


Aftermath

by missyoubabycakes



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Hush Hush, M/M, Perrie is a sweetheart, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Harry, a big bad guy wants louis, a bunch of fluff, because, find out what they are by reading it!!!, harry and louis are so in love, harry is so hurt, harry won't let that happen, he just wants louis back, liam has no idea what the hell is going on, louis doesn't remember who he is, louis is really powerful, nor does he remember who harry is, poor guy, supernatural louis, supernatural zayn, there might be some hot scenes or something, zayn is bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 47,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24636901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missyoubabycakes/pseuds/missyoubabycakes
Summary: Harry comes from a very heated place on a mission to find Louis, but ends up doing whatever he can so nobody else finds out who Louis really is. That decision is why he wakes up one day to find that he is about to suffer the consequences of going against specific orders from down below.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	1. P R O L O G U E

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone. I'm finally back.
> 
> It pains me to have abandoned a story that was so much fun to write, but a lot of things happened and I couldn't finish it at all. 
> 
> Now, I come back with yet another story that I am so, so, so in love with. I love supernatural stuff and I can't wait for you all to read it and have an amazing time while doing so. I hope it brings you many emotions like it's doing to me while I'm writing it. 
> 
> I promise I won't abandon this one. It holds a place too dear in my heart for me to do that.
> 
> Good reading!

**P R O L O G U E**

_**I make my way without you over and over**_

  
_**I got lost in my head and I**_ _**found the way to you again** _

Harry awakes in fear, eyes wide and breathing accelerated as his heart beats as fast as lightning hitting the ground. His hands are gripping the white sheets beneath him and his body is trembling. 

He doesn’t know why, though. 

He doesn’t remember having a bad dream, not when memories from the night before are still fresh and real in his mind. It makes his heart slow down a little bit, and even though for some reason it’s really cold, he feels a bit warmer with the thought that last night was one of the best nights he’s had ever since his first day. 

That’s the reason why it hurts so much when he realizes something is completely wrong; the reason why it hurts like glass through the skin when he notices his surroundings isn’t his bedroom filled with memories of blue eyes and bright smiles. 

That’s why it hurts so much when he turns his head to look to his left side, where he was supposed to find blue eyes and smiles, but is only met with a way too white wall.

Harry is alone, and he doesn’t quite follow what is going on. He sits up and takes a real look around the room — definitely not his room. It looks like a hospital room, but the rusty and squeaky bed by the wall to the left, the old white sink and toilet right across the bed, and the iron bars far to his right keeping him locked away from what it looks like to be a long hall, tell him it’s anything but a hospital room. 

He stands up and looks down at what he’s wearing — dark green T-shirt and pants, and they look like some kind of pattern, a uniform. 

Harry walks to the sink and looks at himself into a mirror hanging on the wall above it. Weirdly enough, there are also some thin iron bars protecting the mirror. Well, thinking of it, those are probably to avoid whoever is in here from hurting themselves. 

As he stares at his own image, though, he sees he’s still himself, or at least as much of himself he can be. He’s still _himself_ , but everything else is changed. 

He thinks he knows who’s behind all of this, and he’s afraid to think of the reason why. He doesn’t want to think about the consequences of what he’s done; he doesn’t want to think about what might have happened to blue eyes and smiles. He can’t handle that. Harry can’t stand the thought of it.

He grips the edges of the sink tightly and tries to control his breath and stupid beating heart, not allowing himself to cry until he finds out what the hell is going on.

A loud bang on the iron bars startles him, and he turns his head to look at who caused it, meeting a pair of black eyes staring back at him. 

“Time for your appointment, Styles,” The responsible person for the loud bang, who happens to be a very large man with a nightstick and a taser hanging on his belt, tells him loudly. “Be ready in five minutes.”

Harry is frowning when the man turns away to probably bother someone else. Since he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, the only thing he does is wear the pair of laceless black tennis shoes he sees under the bed and stands there by the bars until the man, who’s probably a security guard — given the uniform he’s wearing under a black coat jacket and the actual weapons he's carrying —, is back to take him to wherever it is he’s supposed to be.

Five minutes later, Harry estimates, the large man is back to unlock the bars and, for some reason Harry doesn’t understand, grabs his right arm to escort him to wherever he’s supposed to go.

Large Security Guard walks them through the long hallway until they reach an elevator that takes them two floors down. They walk another long hallway leading them to a wide glass door, which he opens with an ID card. They step outside and Harry’s eyes sting from the sunlight. 

It’s cold, really cold, and when Harry shivers as they walk through a very wide courtyard with benches and trees and little gardens by huge brick walls, Large Security Guard laughs at him. 

“I told you to get ready,” The man says with a mocking tone that Harry doesn’t appreciate at all.

 _How was I supposed to know how fucking cold it is?_ He wants to ask, _do I even have anything to wear besides what I’m wearing? Why is it so cold, anyway? Isn’t it supposed to be mid-spring or something?_

Harry doesn’t say anything, though, settling on keeping an eye on his surroundings — there are three large square buildings, all lined up side by side. The building he’s just stepped out of is the same color as his dark green uniform, while the one next to it is dark blue and the following one is dark purple. 

He notices he’s being taken to the dark purple one, and he wants to ask why. He really does, but he knows that’s the wrong thing to do.

Once they reach the dark purple building, the guard opens the door with his ID card and walks Harry to what it looks like a reception counter. 

“Right on time!” A woman behind the counter greets them with a smile. Harry looks at her badge hanging on her uniform. The badge says her name is Perrie Edwards, and her light blue uniform says she's either a nurse or some kind of doctor. Her blue eyes are also very kind. “How are you feeling today, Mr. Styles?”

Harry blinks at her. Is he supposed to answer? Well, he doesn’t. He frowns at her instead, which doesn’t seem to surprise her at all. 

“I’ll take it from here, Saltz, as you know,” She says as she walks around the counter to stand next to Harry and place a soft hand right on the spot Large Security Guard was holding his arm. “See you in three hours to pick him up.”

“Later, Ms. Edwards,” The man turns around and walks away.

 _Three hours?_ Harry thinks to himself, _what the fuck is going on._

“I’m sure you’re gonna love your new doctor,” She tells him once she starts guiding him through yet another long white wall hallway. “I’ve heard many good things about him. And he’s very nice, from what I can tell by the few words we’ve exchanged so far.”

 _New doctor?_ Harry frowns after taking a quick look at the blue-eyed blonde woman. _I had a doctor?_

“Here we are!” She announces once they stop by a light purple door with the number _15_ on it. Perrie Edwards The Nurse knocks on the door before opening it and lightly urging him inside. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Oh! You must be Harry,” The voice is what causes his heart to race like a fucking race car and his eyes go so wide they hurt. 

_What’s going on?_ Harry cries into his mind. 

There he is, staring at Harry with blue eyes and beaming smiles, wearing a light gray sweater, black jeans and a white medical coat over it all. 

“Louis?” He finally uses his voice, and he hates that it comes out so weak and shaking. 

The look of surprise on Louis' face sends daggers through Harry’s heart — suddenly he knows where this is going.

“Perrie told you my name, then? I told her I’d rather introduce myself properly to you all, so you can all hear everything from me,” Louis is saying all these things, and for some reason, Harry feels like it’s been so long since he last heard that voice — even though he saw him last night.

 _Damn it, it was last night, wasn’t it?_ He questions himself. 

“Well, I’m Louis Tomlinson and I’ll be your new doctor from now on,” Louis smiles sweetly at him and points to a very comfortable looking black armchair, inviting Harry to sit down. 

He does without saying a word and holds his eyes on Louis’, who’s now sat across him on another black armchair. 

Harry realizes what is about to happen, then — it’s a therapy session. Louis is a Psychiatry major, and this is his first official job. Harry’s heard all about it. Harry knows how excited Louis was to start here, and how he was also so afraid to fail. Harry knows it all. Harry knows _him_. 

“Before you tell me a little about you, I’ll tell you a little about me so we’re even, okay?” Harry notices he’s nervous by the way he’s entwining his fingers and blinking so quickly. “I’m originally from Greensburg in Indiana, but came to Baltimore to study and now here I am.”

Harry has the urge to cry, then, because he knows it all. He knows Louis is from Greensburg and got a scholarship at Hopkins because he’s so fucking smart. Louis is so smart — Harry knows everything about him and it hurts to know. It hurts because as Louis says these little things about himself that could make a patient trust a doctor enough to talk their heart out, Harry fully realizes that Louis has no idea he’s told him all of this before. 

“Now, tell me about yourself?” 

Harry frowns at him and his eyes burn because, _fuck_ , he wants to cry. 

“Don’t you have everything about me in a file?” Harry asks, deciding to not let any emotion show. 

“That’s funny of you to ask, actually,” Louis raises his eyebrows at him, and Harry wants to get up, walk to him and beg him to explain what the hell is going on. “Your file doesn’t say much about you. It says why you’re here, of course, but that’s pretty much it, besides the fact that you haven’t been helpful with the doctor before me. Would you tell me why you didn't speak the entire sessions you were with Doctor Levine?”

Harry has no idea what he’s talking about. How is he supposed to act here? What is he supposed to do?

“And what exactly did I do to be here?” He asks, and he knows it sounds mocking — he can tell by the look on Louis’ face, that one look he would always send Harry whenever he made a bad joke. 

“We’re not here for me to tell you what you did, because you already know it, Harry,” Louis says calmly. “We’re here to help you get through all of this and help you understand the depths of your actions. Now, can you, please, tell me why you didn’t speak the entire sessions you were with Doctor Levine?” 

“Tell me what I did,” Harry insists with a hardened look. He needs to know, maybe it’ll help him understand what’s currently happening. “And I’ll tell you why.”

Louis stays quiet for a moment, studying Harry with his eyes until he takes a deep breath.

“You killed your father, Harry,” Louis says and Harry locks his jaw in anger. “You suffocated him in his sleep with a pillow and buried him in your backyard.”

“I did,” Harry nods his head slowly, swallowing dry. “Yeah, I totally killed my father. That fucking bastard,” He runs his hands over his face with a deep and long sigh before locking eyes with Louis, who’s patiently waiting for him to answer his question. “You wanna know why I didn’t say a word to Doctor Whatever His Name Is?” His voice is still and hard — he’s never been so angry his entire stupid life. Louis keeps looking at him, and it hurts so bad. It hurts, it _hurts_. “Because I don’t trust anyone.”

 _Except you_ , he wants to say, _but you don’t know who I am anymore._

“Harry, I hope you understand that—”

“We’re done here,” Harry interrupts him as he stands up from the chair, scaring Louis with the sudden movement. It pains him to see Louis scared of him — that’s how he looks right now... _scared_. Louis has never been scared of him, ever. Not once. Not after everything. 

“That’s not— Harry, that’s not how it works. Our session lasts for an hour, and this is where you’re supposed to be for this whole time until your next activity, You know that. Please, sit back down.”

Harry stares at him for a moment before sitting back down with a racing beating heart. 

“Let’s start over, we can—”

“I said we’re done here,” He repeats and Louis frowns at him. “I’m staying because I don’t have a choice, but we’re still done.” 

“Then I guess you’ll have to hear me talking for a whole hour,” Louis crosses his arms over his chest and his left ankle over his right knee.

Harry tilts his head to the side, watching and wondering and wishing and missing. He watches, and Louis talks. 


	2. Chapter 2

**L O U I S**

_**I should go before I lose my sense of reason** _

_**And this hour holds more meaning than it ever could**_

Louis is currently sitting on the black armchair across the one where his patients sit on to talk to him, and he’s looking down at an open file on his lap, thinking. 

There are ten minutes left until the confused green-eyed man is supposed to be sitting there opposite him, so Louis reflects.

_Harry Edward Styles, 26 years old_

_Admitted on December 30th of 2016, at 8:22 p.m_

_Aggressive_

_Depressive_

_Impulsive_

_Unfriendly and cold; refuses to cooperate with doctors by not speaking at all and rarely spends time with any other patient._

_On December 24th of 2016, Styles murdered his father at 9:15 p.m, suffocating the man with a pillow and burying him right after, in the Styles family’s house’s backyard. Styles proceeded to continue his routine the following days until the police found out. The person who called the police was one of the patient's friends, Liam Payne._

_Father: Joseph Styles_

_Situation: dead_

_Mother: Elizabeth Styles_

_Situation: dead_

_Allowed visitors: Liam Payne, 27 years old._

Louis keeps looking down at the file, frowning. He has never seen a patient's file so vague like this one — why isn’t there anything there about his life? It’s been nearly a year since the man was admitted into Radley House and not one doctor was able to make Harry talk? 

Louis checks the time on his wristwatch and there are seven minutes left until Harry is walking through the door.

It’s December 21st and Louis doesn’t understand how it is that no one has apparently made the effort to help this specific patient. _Depressive? Aggressive? Impulsive?_ Why has it been a year and he has yet to cooperate with anyone? Louis doesn’t get it. Every other patient, from what he can see in their files, has at least made a small change ever since being admitted. 

He’s still frowning at the file, wondering why would they let Liam Payne, of all people, visit. Wouldn’t that be bad for the patient? He needs someone he’s familiar with from the outside world, of course, but a friend who ended up being the one who put him here? 

Not that Louis thinks Liam Payne shouldn’t have, not at all. However, Louis knows for sure that Harry must feel some sort of betrayal. Louis would, for sure. 

He takes a deep sigh and writes that down on his notepad, so he doesn’t forget to bring that up.

There’s a soft knock on the door and there Perrie is lightly pushing Harry inside, smiling at Louis before closing the door and leaving them two alone.

“Good morning, Harry,” Louis greets him while gesturing to the other black armchair.

Harry doesn’t hesitate to sit down, but the look on his face screams nuisance. 

“What day is it?” It’s the first thing Harry says, and Louis is lightly startled by the question.

“Friday,” Louis informs him. He’s glad that he isn’t as nervous as he was in their first appointment.

“I need to come here and listen to you talk for an hour twice a week?” 

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “I don’t need to be the one talking for an hour, you know,” He shrugs.

“Tell me what date it is today,” Harry ignores him, his eyes glaring at Louis. “Please.”

“December 21st.”

Louis watches when Harry seems to realize something, his eyes darting away to the ground and the frown deep on his face. 

“Harry, are you alright?” He asks because he has to, but also because he wonders what goes on in that man’s mind.

Everyone around here at Radley House says Harry is one of the worst patients — _he’s so scary,_ some say; _he’s beaten a nurse, he wasn’t authorized to go outside for a week,_ others have gossiped to him; _he’s said if he could, he’d kill his father all over again._ So, Louis wonders how they know that if they also say Harry hasn’t cooperated with doctors and rarely communicates with other patients.

Therefore, Louis wants to know and he wants to help as much as he can. 

“What year?” Harry questions with his eyes upon Louis again.

“What?” Louis frowns — there isn’t anything in his file about memory loss. 

“What year is it?”

“2017,” Louis answers, studying Harry’s reactions to it — he widens his eyes and then he composes himself, crossing his arms over his chest and quietly sniffing once. 

“It isn’t snowing,” It’s what Harry ends up saying, and Louis does nothing but shakes his head. He decides maybe it will be better if he lets Harry begin every conversation, even if it means he’ll make questions that make no sense. “No snow,” His voice is a whisper.

“Well, it usually starts snowing early January, so we’re almost there,” Louis says. “Do you like snow, Harry?” 

“I don’t. I used to know someone who did, though,” Harry’s eyes are deep as he stares at Louis, and Louis is just as a slight bit of uncomfortable — he supposes murderers can make you feel that way. “I guess I learned not to hate it because they loved it.”

“Do you wanna talk about this person?” Louis asks. “It’s good talking about things that matter to you.”

“I don’t wanna talk about anything.”

Louis sighs. “What about your friend, Liam?” He questions, and that seems to catch Harry’s attention, given that he’s quick to lean his body forward and frown at Louis as if he’s said the craziest thing ever.

“Liam?”

“How do you feel about him, Harry?” 

“What about Liam?” Harry is asking, and he sounds confused, which is even more confusing to Louis. 

He thought once he brought Liam up, Harry’s reaction would be totally different — maybe he would shout in anger or break some things. Isn’t he supposed to be aggressive and impulsive? 

“Do you think he betrayed you by selling you out?” 

“What?”

Louis looks at him, realizing that Harry has no idea what he is talking about — why is there nothing about memory loss? This is outrageous. 

“Do you know what I’m talking about, Harry?” Louis inquiries calmly. “Do you know who Liam is?”

“I do know who he is,” Harry tilts his head slightly to his right, still frowning. “I just don’t know what you mean by he sold me out.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise — _he really doesn’t know?_ It can’t be. He looks as though he doesn’t remember anything. 

“He told the cops about your father,” Louis states. Honesty is always the best path to follow with patients. 

“He told the cops I murdered my father,” He echoes with other words, blinking at Louis, who nods in agreement, still studying every reaction Harry has. “I guess I confided in the wrong person, then.”

“How do you feel when he comes for a visit?”

Harry looks away from Louis, then. He looks pensive as he stares at the light blue wall behind Louis. A minute or two goes by, and Harry doesn’t say anything else.

“Harry?” Louis calls him, but the man doesn’t look back at him. His face is blank of emotions as if he won’t make it any easier for Louis to try and read him again — Louis knows something is sadly wrong with him, just like with every other person he’s treating. Somehow, though, this feels different. Harry seems lost, but at the same time he seems quite aware of everything; he doesn’t seem to remember some things, but at the same time he seems like a person who knows too much. Louis doesn’t know why he gets this feeling, but it’s _there_. 

Harry is sad, Louis can tell. Extremely sad and lost, but is he really this aggressive and awful person everyone seems to think he is? 

Yes, he killed his father, and it was terrible. He’s paying for his terrible mistake now, and Louis' job is to help every person here through a terrible mistake and situation, not to judge and punish. So, yes, Harry murdered his own father, but what for? Where’s his back story, like every other patient here has? 

“Harry, are you okay?” 

“When is Liam coming for a visit again?” Harry asks, his voice low and tense. 

“Why?” Louis leans his body forward, placing his elbows on his knees, eyes attentive on Harry. “What do you wanna tell him next time you see him?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry finally looks back at Louis, eyes tired and cold. “Maybe I’ll kill him like I killed my father.”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he doesn’t look away. He knows what Harry is trying to do — most patients do that: they try to say something that will scare Louis away and make him stop with the questions.

“I don’t think you will, no,” Louis shakes his head. “How long have you known him?”

“I don’t wanna talk about Liam anymore,” Harry states. “In fact, I don’t wanna talk about anything at all.”

“I guess I’ll be the one talking for the last—” Louis checks the time on his wristwatch, raising his eyebrows. “Thirty-five minutes.”

Harry leans back on the armchair, resting his entwined hands on his lap and shrugging as to show he doesn’t care. Louis sighs deeply, and for the last thirty-five minutes, Harry watches at him with deep green eyes while Louis talks about how Baltimore is colorful with Christmas decorations and how he is excited to help to decorate Radley with the rest of the staff for the first time. For some reason, Louis tells him it’s his favorite time of the year, especially because his birthday is on Christmas eve. 

When he says that last part, he keeps himself quiet for a moment to realize he’s shared something personal to a patient, and he silently tells himself that he’s done it so the patient can trust him enough to share something personal too. He also silently tells himself that he will do the same with other patients; he will definitely tell the same things he is telling Harry right now. 

He keeps talking and talking — avoiding personal bits this time —, and Harry keeps staring and watching until it’s time for him to leave Louis’ office. 

When the black armchair across him is empty, he takes a deep breath and gets a pen ready so he can make some notes on Harry’s file.

_Aggressive_

_Depressive_

_Impulsive_

He reads again, frowning deeply at the words.

_Memory loss_

_Confusion_

He adds to the paper, biting the end of the pen for a short moment. _Possible trauma_ , he finishes. 

Louis takes a deep sigh once again before closing his notepad and the file. 


	3. Chapter 3

** H A R R Y **

**_ I think I'm lost without you _ **

It’s Saturday when Harry is awake by a loud alarm ringing, echoing all through the long hallway where his cell is placed along with at least sixteen others. He groans loudly and sits up before running his hands over his face tiredly. It’s probably six-thirty a.m, which is the time Harry has learned the same alarm rings every day. It did the day before, it will probably do every day from now on. 

The day before, he woke up this early, at the same time, to learn then that at 7 a.m the inmates in his building are supposed to have breakfast at a very wide dining hall, situated on the ground floor. Then, one of the guards guided him to his cell just to come back ten minutes later to take him to see Louis for his therapy session — which was torture, of course. The fact that Harry has to see him twice a week, knowing that Louis has no idea who he is or what they have been through together, is complete torture. 

At 8:45 a.m, Harry was supposed to be at the library helping with the organization of some new books, along with four other people — two of them were wearing the same uniform as him: a tall, thin, black woman and a very tired looking middle-aged white man; the other two were wearing dark blue uniforms, so Harry figured they were from the dark blue building. He wondered what each building color meant — dangerous to themselves, insane murderers, and what? 

He forgot to pay more attention to it when two hours later a security guard led them to the courtyard so they could spend some time doing whatever with at least twenty more people wandering around, with some security guards and nurses in position to look after them. Harry saw some of them in groups, talking; some others were alone, staring into the nothingness of the sky, and others were sitting alone, talking to themselves. 

Harry wondered why the hell that  _ bastard  _ thought it would be a good idea to punish him here — it has to be punishment. He couldn’t do what he had been told to do, so he had to suffer the consequences and this is it.  _ Sick bastard _ , it’s what he thought as he watched a freakishly blonde girl laughing all by herself while pointing up at the sky. 

For the rest of the day, there wasn't much to do — he had learned that inmates could actually borrow books from the library, so that’s what he did, and because he didn’t have anything else to do that was on his Saturday schedule, he borrowed one to read right after lunchtime, until it was dinner time and then bedtime. 

Now, he wonders why they ring the loud alarm on a Saturday early morning — he figures every single one of them has activity daily. This is some kind of treatment prison, after all, so their main purpose is basically to keep patients busy, from what it looks like. 

Because he had a nervous breakdown after his first session with Louis, which meant he couldn’t be still, he was able to find that he actually had some winter clothes underneath his bed, in a box — they were all dark green uniform, but at least he didn’t have to be as cold as ice all day long. So now he also wears one of the thick sweatshirts, gloves, and beanie provided to him.

“Let’s go, Styles,” The same security guard from the first day bangs on the bars as he did before. "Get in line so we can get your asses to breakfast.”

Harry rolls his eyes and does as he’s told once his cell is unlocked, getting behind one of his neighbors, whose name is Jason Mac, he’s learned. He doesn’t intend to talk to him at all, ever, but the guy still greets him every morning, as if he’s the nicest person to ever exist — as if he’s probably not done anything terrible to end up there. Harry has figured that the Dark Green Building is for the dangerous and murderous ones.

“Don’t forget you have a group session after breakfast today,” The jerk of a guard says once the line starts moving. “Just in case you’ll try and be smart going back to your stupid book. Ms. Perrie will take you and your group to where you are all supposed to be today.”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, fisting his hands in anger. This is what his Saturdays will be like, then — group sessions. What are they supposed to do? Share their terrible sad stories of how they killed someone and don't regret it? Maybe Harry will share with his new friends how his best friend Liam stabbed him in the back by telling the cops Harry killed his own father —  _ right _ , that’s a funny story. How could Harry be so stupid confiding his worst secret to his best friend?  _ That’s unfortunate _ , he thinks to himself with a humorless laugh when they finally reach the spacious dining hall which is situated in the dark blue building, getting themselves in another line so they can get food.

It’s pancakes with maple syrup and apples this morning, which is better than the day before — very suspicious scrambled eggs and very old looking bread. Pancakes make him kind of sad, though. It reminds him of times he doesn’t think if he will ever get back.

Harry gets his share of food and walks to the same table he ate on the day before, only this time the freakishly blonde girl he saw last morning laughing all by herself is sitting there with two other people. They are all wearing dark purple uniforms. 

He sits there as quietly and as far from them he can, but the blonde girl notices him right away, looking at him curiously. She looks young, around seventeen or so; her eyes are very blue, and her skin is very light — she looks like she’s from another planet or something. Her hair is short and styled very oddly. 

“You’re Harry Styles, the daddy killer, aren’t you?” She speaks with a soft voice, so calm and soft it sounds weird with the question she’s asking. 

Harry looks at her with raised eyebrows, blinking slowly as he tries to actually get the question.  _ Daddy killer?  _ He repeats in his mind and then narrows his eyes at the girl.

“I guess I am,” He shrugs, then. Why would he deny it? If that’s who he’s supposed to be, then so be it.

“You don’t look like someone who would kill their father,” The girl shares her opinion. The other two people, a long brown-haired girl, and short greenish haired boy are staring at him with wide eyes. They all look the same age as the blonde weird girl. “You do look like someone who would kill other people, though. What with the scary green eyes and greasy long hair.”

Harry scowls, quite offended, to be honest. His hair isn’t that long — it’s barely reaching his shoulders. Also, he hasn’t had the time to wash it properly, given that their showers are supposed to be three minutes long. 

“Maybe I could kill you, then,” He says after putting a piece of pancake in his mouth, sending her a hardened smile while he chews. “Do you think that will make you shut up?” He asks once he’s swallowed.

“Nah, don’t bother,” She bites on her apple after telling him with a shrug. “I’ll do that myself if I ever need to, thanks. Also,  _ rude _ . Who do you think you are, telling me to shut up? Fuck off, will you.”

Harry finds her response odd, but he reckons he can’t be surprised by anything over here — the scars all over the brown-haired girl’s arms should tell him enough about the kinds of cases they have to deal with here. It’s strange how someone like him, who supposedly murdered his own father, is allowed to have breakfast with someone who looks as vulnerable as her.

Maybe that’s why there are so many guards surrounding the area.

“I’m the daddy killer, aren’t I?” He glares at her, and turns his attention to his food, deciding that the best thing to do so he can get through this day is if he’s ignoring everyone. 

“I’m Becky,” The girl keeps talking, even though Harry made it very clear he doesn’t want to continue this meaningless conversation. “This is Vanessa and Ben.”

“Right,” Harry nods, mouth full with a big piece of pancake. He wants to say he doesn’t care, but it won’t make any difference.

“It’s funny how we’ve never met, even though we’ve been here for the same amount of time.”

Harry wants to inform her that  _ no _ , they haven’t. Harry has been here for three days, and the fact that people think he’s been here longer it’s insane. Even for him, who’s from the craziest and most unbelievable place.

“I guess I didn’t want to meet you, after all.”

“Just because you’re a murderer, it doesn’t give you the right to be a fucking dick!” The girl complains, her voice is still soft, although a bit louder. “You know I’m very popular around here—”

“Are you, now?”

“I can make your life hell if I want to,” She glares at him, pointing a fork in his direction. “Watch out.”

“Scary,” He rolls his eyes, shoving the last bite of pancake into his mouth. 

“We have a group session right after breakfast,” She states, and he blinks at her. “I guess I’ll have loads to say about you.” 

Of course, she would be part of this group therapy session he’s in.  _ Of course _ . Perky little Becky — Harry is sure she’s a demon or somewhat. He knows  _ all _ about that. Well, not a literal demon, no. He would know. But like a  _ demon _ , definitely. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with great things to say,” He tells her after taking two big bites of his apple. “Maybe I’ll have some to say about you as well.”

Becky stares at him, and it’s kind of a staring contest, apparently. She’s angry, he can tell, and it’s not surprising, really. She seems like a pretty unstable and vulnerable girl. Maybe if Harry was a better person or a person at all, he could try to be her friend and help her. He isn’t, though, so he just keeps staring at her until she huffs in annoyance and stands up to walk away, her two Dark Purple Uniform friends following her behind. 

“Someone to keep me distracted, I guess,” He grumbles to himself as he watches them walk away, finishing his apple. He chuckles humorlessly and stands up to take his tray to the tray rack.

Harry looks around to find Ms. Perrie Edwards, the nurse, talking to Freakishly Blonde Becky and her friends. He takes a deep breath and makes his way over so he can be ready when it’s time for them to go wherever this group therapy session is supposed to be — he keeps his distance, however, because he doesn’t want to hear the Becky girl trying to threaten him with her words of popularity in an asylum. 

Which,  _ right _ , it’s hard to understand that one — Harry’s in an asylum. A nuthouse, as some stupid people would call it. This was the master plan, after all. A great punishment, Harry will give the  _ bastard _ that. All about the psychological torture. That’s great.

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, biting his bottom lip to try and contain his rising anger. He looks around once again, looking for the one who's become the single reason for him to be  _ someone else _ . Louis isn’t there, though. Harry hates that even if Louis was there, it wouldn’t make any difference because Harry is nothing but a patient to him now, and it hurts so much. 

He sniffs, biting his bottom lip harder and blinking quickly so there are no fucking tears for him to cry. What a stupid feeling sadness is. He misses not feeling anything at all — he has Louis to blame for that, all the feeling and stuff. 

“Fuck,” He whispers to himself before pressing his hands over his eyes. 

“Harry, are you ready to go?” He hears Ms. Perrie ask him.

“Yeah,” He tells her when he looks up, composing himself and getting in yet another line, this one shorter, so he can get to wherever they’re going right now.

Ms. Perrie and one other guard guide the group out of the dark blue building towards the purple one — maybe that’s where all therapy-related activities are held. Harry looks ahead and behind him on the line and counts ten people, including him, and notices that there is no one else wearing the same dark green uniform he is — four are wearing the purple one, and five are wearing the blue one. He frowns at that, wondering, but keeps walking with them until they’re led into a wide room with white and yellow walls far into a long hallway on the first floor of the building. 

There are eleven chairs placed next to each other forming a circle, and they don’t need guidance to know that they are supposed to find their seat and wait for their session to start. Well, except Harry — he’s confused, which is stupid of him. He can see through all of what’s really going on, but it still makes him wonder; it still leaves him in confusion. 

“Harry? Take a seat, please,” Ms. Perrie tells him when it’s been more than fifteen seconds they entered the room and Harry hasn’t moved to find his seat. 

He looks at her for a moment and wonders if he tried to read her mind, he could do it. He doesn’t, though, because it wouldn’t make any difference. He would still be stuck in this nightmare, so he does as he’s told and sits between a curly brown-haired girl with chocolate skin and a long black-haired boy who looks to be around fifteen years old or so, and also really lost and scared. Harry can relate if he’s being honest.

He watches as Ms. Perrie makes her way out of the room while the guard takes his position by the door outside and a man wearing a dark orange sweater, black jeans, and a white medical coat. Before seeing his face, Harry’s heart skips a beat thinking that it might be Louis leading this session, but he’s kind of disappointed when he sees that it isn’t.

The funny thing is that, even though Harry is sure he has never seen this man, he gets this feeling that he’s familiar as he makes his way to the only chair left for him to sit, between Becky and her friend Vanessa and right across Harry. 

The man has straight short black hair and his skin is colored like caramel, just like his eyes, He’s thin and Harry would say that he looks a little bit sick, however extremely beautiful and familiar. 

Harry can’t put a name to it, but the feeling is there. He stares at the man — the doctor. He stares until he has to look away because the man is staring back at him. 

“Good morning, everyone,” The man speaks up, his voice calm and low. The feeling gets a bit stronger. “I’m doctor Zayn Malik and I’ll be leading this group session from now on.”

Harry is frowning when he looks back at their apparently new doctor.  _ Who is he? _ He’s questioning himself.  _ Where do I know him from?  _ His voice is loud inside his head.  _ Do I know him at all? _

“Let's start introducing ourselves so I can put a face to all of your names,” He says with a kind smile, looking around so he can see everyone. “Can we start with you?” He asks, looking at Becky.

“I’m Becky Sanders, and I’m eighteen,” She informs, loud and clear.

“Tell us why you’re here, Becky,” Dr. Zayn Malik, who’s strangely so familiar to Harry, says kindly.

Becky sighs loudly before crossing her arms over her chest and speaking: “I guess because I’m depressive as fuck and suicidal.”

Harry averts his eyes to her, blinking.  _ Well _ , he thinks,  _ at least she can admit it.  _

“You’re here because you need help, Becky,” Dr. Malik says. “Admitting that is the first step. So, thank you.”

Harry notices Becky rolling her eyes before the doctor goes from patient to patient, asking their names and the reason why they are there until it’s Harry’s turn.

“I’m Harry Styles,” He tells them. Dr. Malik is looking at him intensely, and Harry wonders what the hell is up with that. “I’m here because I murdered my father, apparently.”

The others look at him, some eyes are curious, some are scared and some are bored. Becky Sanders’ eyes are two of the last option.

“You’re here for help and discovery, Harry,” Doctor Mister Familiar states, and Harry does nothing but narrow his eyes at him. “These people here are gonna help you with the issues that made you do what you did.”

Harry thinks that he shouldn’t be here with these people. Why would they let someone who apparently killed their own father with a bunch of people who want to kill nobody but themselves? He wonders if it’s protocol — do the others from the dark green building do this same kind of group therapy Harry is currently in? Are they the only murderers in the group? 

Harry realizes this must be part of his punishment. 

After all, if someone fails at anything, they have to suffer the consequences. No matter how absurd they might seem. 

“He probably killed his father because of his daddy issues,” It’s Becky speaking, and Harry immediately knows she’s just doing what she’s told him she would. “Did he find out you like a dick and kicked your ass?”

“Becky!” Dr. Malik reproaches her, but Harry isn’t impressed. “This is definitely not how we are gonna treat each other here. We’re gonna talk about what keeps you up and thinking, not mistreat each other.”

Harry looks at Becky with raised brows, but he doesn’t say anything. 

It's all probably part of this sick little game, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**L O U I S**

_**Life's been blinding me from what I thought I'd see** _

_**Is there clarity in this insanity?** _

Being woken up by the alarm he set on his phone the night before is always the worst. It’s six a.m on a Monday and he has forty-five minutes to get ready for his day. 

There still are some boxes littering around the room, but he’s been kind of lazy to organize everything since he arrived last Monday. 

When he applied to Radley House for this job position, he knew that if they hired him it would mean he would have to live there — every doctor and nurse does. Because the place is so far away from town, it makes no sense for the employees to drive all the way there just to come back the other day. 

Now that he is here, though, he thinks that maybe if he had gotten another job at another place, he would be at his own apartment, in the comfort of his own home. 

His room is enough for one person, and he thinks that every other dorm room is the same size. There’s a comfortable enough bed placed by a light yellow wall to the left of the door, right on the middle, and two nightstands on each side of it, with black lamps on top of each. There’s a walk-in small wardrobe with mirror sliding doors fixed on the wall to the right of the bed, and a white door next to the wardrobe, on the right, that leads to the bathroom, which fortunately contains a bathtub. 

The glass window to the left of the bed is wide, and the curtains are dark brown so when it’s daylight, it’s not as bright inside as long as they’re closed. There’s also a mini kitchen on the far left corner, close to the window, with a microwave on the very top of a white shelf, along with some kitchen utensils — which Louis can use when he wants to cook — a mini-fridge, a sink, and a stove. Louis knows he won’t use it as much, given that Radley provides all employees with food except on weekends, and he’s allowed to leave whenever he has some time off or some break. Louis isn’t a good cook, although he tries his best, so he would rather order something or go out to a restaurant, anyway. 

He sighs deeply and slowly gets up, turning the alarm off so he can go to the bathroom and take a shower. He turns it on the hot water — almost too hot — mode and takes his pajamas off, shivering. He hates this part, showers in the cold mornings. He doesn’t have a choice, though, otherwise, he will look like a zombie throughout the whole day. 

Louis closes his eyes once he’s under the shower, taking deep breaths as he soaps himself. 

He quickly opens his eyes when something happens, causing him to frown in confusion as he stares at the white tiles in front of him, covering the walls. 

It’s a flashback, he guesses, but it’s weird. He has no memory of it — he’s on his couch back in his apartment, and he’s laughing really loud. The TV is on and there’s someone there with him, the source of his merriment. He’s laughing and he’s looking at this person fondly, his eyes watery from all the laughter. 

Now, Louis pushes his hair back, still under the hot shower, and he’s confused. Louis has a very good memory, but he has no idea what this one was about. He doesn’t know when it was or why he was laughing so hard, or who was the person with him.

He’s frowning deeply, eyes still stuck on the white tiles. Maybe it was from one of his dreams — he has many of those. Not a memory, just a _dream_. He shakes his head and goes back to finishing his shower. 

As he’s getting ready for his day, the image can’t seem to get out of his head. He keeps thinking about it over and over as if there’s something about the whole scene that makes him miss it. 

“It’s just a dream,” He whispers to himself after wearing his white medical coat over a thick wool dark gray sweater and getting his phone from the nightstand into his jeans pocket. 

It’s only when he’s out the door that he remembers he’s turning twenty-eight today. 

It’s his birthday and for a long moment, he didn’t even remember it, even though his family has been pestering him about it for days to no end. He’s been so busy with his first days at a dream job that he actually forgot all about it.

It’s his birthday _and_ Christmas eve. 

He’s surprised his mother hasn’t called him yet — she’s always the first one to wish him a happy birthday. 

As he’s making his way to his office down to the first floor of the dark purple building, he also remembers that tomorrow some of the staff will have the day off, he included. Because it’s only his fourth day of work, he had thought he would have to be here, but he was happy to find out he would be able to drive to his mother’s house in Lake Shore.

When it’s seven a.m sharp, Louis is greeting Perrie at the building’s reception. She smiles kindly at him, handing him a muffin — she’s done it since his second day here. 

“No breakfast today?” She asks when he smiles at her thankfully before taking the muffin and taking a bite of it. 

“I’m not really that hungry,” He shrugs. “You feed me with muffins, anyway.”

Perrie chuckles lightly as she starts signing some papers.

“You’ve got Styles at seven-twenty, right?” 

“Yeah,” He sighs. “A great way to start my birthday.”

“It’s your birthday?!” She gasps, quickly walking around the counter to hug him tightly. “Happy birthday!”

Louis doesn’t think they are friends enough for that kind of hug yet, but he’s grateful anyway. Perrie is actually a very nice young woman, and Louis can see a great friendship for them, really. 

“Thanks,” He laughs once she steps away with a wide smile. 

“I can’t believe your birthday is on Christmas eve!”

“I know, right? It never stops being fun,” He says. “Except when it’s your fourth day at work and you have a very long day with many difficult patients.”

She smiles amusedly and pats his shoulders. “We’ll find something to distract you as a present at lunchtime. How about that?”

“Sounds good, actually.”

Before Perrie can say anything else, the glass door at the building entrance is being opened and Mr. Stalz, one of the many guards, is walking in with Harry Styles, one of his big hands grabbing Harry's arm as if he doesn't know how to walk on his own.

Even though Louis knows some of the patients here have done terrible things, he still thinks they don’t need to be grabbed or cuffed when they are walking to their activities or somewhat — they are here for treatment, and if they disrespect any rule there are consequences and punishments, especially for those in the dark green building. Is it really necessary to bring them to a therapy session like that? 

“Good morning, doctor Tomlinson,” Mr. Saltz greets him. “Good morning, Ms. Perrie.”

“Morning, Saltz,” She smiles at him. “Morning, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t say anything back, which doesn’t surprise Louis. He’s known for not talking as much, after all.

“Harry, shall we?” Louis smiles politely at the green-eyed man, gesturing towards the hallway so they can walk to his office.

Harry nods curtly and follows Louis when he calmly starts walking, hands behind his back. Louis doesn’t fully look at him until he closes the door to his office behind him and Harry is sitting on the usual black armchair, and Louis is sitting on his own. 

The first thing Louis notices is that Harry looks tired — there are darkening bags under his deep green eyes, and his lips are dry. It’s something weird for him to notice, but he can’t help but notice every single thing as he tilts his head to the side, attentive and quiet. 

Louis also notices that Harry looks nervous as he picks on his thumbs cuticle and bites on his bottom dry lip. He’s blinking a lot, as well, and Louis knows he should be saying something by now, but he figures that he might as well let Harry start every conversation — maybe that will be a good way to have him open up, after all. 

Harry’s right leg is bouncing quickly. Up and down, up and down. It’s a stupid thing to think about, but right now he looks very young. Young and lost. Louis frowns, patiently waiting for him to say anything, and as he waits, he can’t help but think that there’s nothing aggressive about him at all. Louis can see sadness, loss, frustration, and confusion, but he’s yet to see aggression. 

Well, of course, this is their third session, but still. Louis knows for a fact that people in Harry’s situation — depressive and _murderous_ — are very likely to be angry and aggressive most of the time unless they are on controlled medicine, and that isn’t Harry’s case. Which also makes Louis wonders — if Harry is so aggressive, depressive and impulsive like the file says he is, why didn’t his previous doctor give him anything? 

“Happy birthday,” Harry finally speaks, his voice low and firm. Louis blinks quickly, stunned. He frowns, then, confused. “You said your birthday is on Christmas eve. It’s Christmas eve,” He is quick to explain how he knows that once he sees the confusion in Louis’ face. 

Louis is even more surprised, then. _He remembers that?_ Louis thinks, as he also thinks about their last session, where he said many things which he probably shouldn’t have said at all. Harry was paying attention, after all — he doesn’t want to be there, it’s very clear, but at least he’s listening. Maybe Louis can get to him, then. 

He’s still _very_ surprised, “Thank you, Harry,” Louis says, managing to smile through his surprise. 

“I like birthdays,” Harry quietly confesses, and it shakes Louis up a bit when he notices those green eyes are actually watery and Harry’s voice is a bit shaky. “I didn’t use to.”

Louis doesn’t dare to move, afraid that Harry will stop talking. That’s good progress, _very_ good progress. He keeps his eyes at him, even though, for some reason, having those same watery green eyes staring right into his own, makes him slightly puzzled.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Louis asks carefully, voice calm.

“There’s nothing to talk about it, really,” Harry sniffs with a shrug, averting his eyes to the wall behind him. “Someone showed me a different meaning to birthdays from what I was used to, once upon a time.” 

“The same person who taught you how not to hate snow?”

That makes Harry look back at him, eyes slightly red from the tears he won’t allow to fall. 

“I learned many things from him,” Harry states with traces of sadness in his voice. Louis takes a mental note on the _him_ part _._ “It doesn’t make a difference. Not anymore, anyway.”

“It does make a difference, Harry,” Louis tells him with a kind and brief smile. “If you learn things that change you in the slightest, be it for the best or worst, the person who taught you these things will be with you no matter what. It’s what keeps us going, really. That’s why we never forget our teachers.”

Harry’s quick chuckle is humorless when he nods his head, even though Louis is pretty sure he doesn’t really agree. 

“Right,” He says just to say it. 

“Did he know your father, Harry?” Louis dares to ask, knowing it’s probably a very delicate subject to touch. 

Harry doesn’t seem to mind, though. He runs his hands over his face before shaking his head with a weak chuckle. 

“No,” He says. “No, he didn’t. Fortunately. Although I don’t know if that was for the best.”

“What do you mean?” Louis frowns, eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

“I mean that _dad_ wasn’t happy about it,” He shrugs. “Who cares, though, right?”

Louis is quiet for a moment, deciding that he needs the full story before jumping to conclusions, like Harry killing his own father because of this _him_ he’s vaguely mentioned twice. 

“Tell me about him,” Louis asks.

“My father?” Harry frowns. 

“No. The person who taught you many things.”

Harry slowly blinks at him, thoughtful. 

“He likes Christmas,” Harry starts, surprising Louis once again. He can’t believe the man is actually willing to talk. “Which is why I now kinda like Christmas as well. He’s funny, and I had never really understood _funny_ until I met him.”

For some strange reason, Louis’ heart is racing a bit and his eyes are staring at Harry in a daze. He’s listening to every word Harry is saying, and for some reason, he can’t quite understand, it makes his heart race and his eyes pickle. 

“I guess I had never really understood anything at all until I met him,” Harry is staring at him while he speaks, and his eyes are careful as he watches Louis, taking in every bit of his reactions, which is something so strange, as Louis allows himself to think about it while strangely fascinated by every emotional word coming out of Harry’s mouth. “There had been one thing in my mind until he made me open my eyes and see more clearly. Have you ever met someone who made you feel like that, Dr. Tomlinson?”

Louis tilts his head to the side as he keeps his eyes on Harry, thoughtful. _Has he?_ He doesn’t think he has, not really, but as Harry talks about it and asks him about it, it feels like a very familiar situation. It feels like a feeling he would know how to talk about from experience, and yet, he has no idea where this is all coming from.

Before answering Harry’s question — because he knows he should —, he thinks about the flashback he’s had in the shower, the one he convinced himself to be a dream. 

“I don’t think I have,” Louis ends up saying, placing his hands on his thighs and fisting them tightly. “It seems like this person meant a great deal to you, Harry.”

“He’s everything, Dr. Tomlinson,” Harry seriously voices, leaning forward with his arms now on his knees. “And I’m glad my father never met him. He never will.” 

Louis just stares at him, for a moment. He knows there are many things he needs to ask. He knows that, but he can’t seem to get anything out, and he doesn’t know why. This is a very strange session — Louis never gets so emotional over what patients tell him, and for some reason, what Harry’s said has seemed to get a hold of him or something. 

“I don’t know how long we have until the session is over, but I’m done talking,” Harry informs, sniffing after resting back against the armchair.

Louis shakes his head so he shakes himself out of this stupid daze and looks at his wristwatch to find that they have actually had an actual conversation for twenty minutes. _That’s huge progress_ , Louis thinks with a sigh, the surprising and shaking feeling still lingering him. 

“I guess I’ll be the one talking for the next forty minutes, then,” He says with a tight smile and starts going on and on about how spring and fall are way better than summer and winter as if that would something someone like Harry Styles would be interested in listening to. 

The fact that Harry seems to listen and pay attention to every argument Louis stupidly presents is what keeps Louis awake until later that night after he’s done packing his things for the following day. 


	5. Chapter 5

**H A R R Y**

_**I don't want them to know the secrets** _

_**  
I don't want them to know the way I loved you** _

The days after Christmas go by fast, and before Harry knows it, it’s two days into January and the first few snowflakes are falling from the sky, reminding him of a time he isn’t sure he will ever get back — well, not without a fight, anyway. 

Louis’ birthday was torture to Harry, and the fact that he had to see him first thing in the morning and couldn’t kiss those lips he’s been missing like hell was the worst of all the tortures. He knows now that he shouldn’t have said those things. Maybe Louis is better off without knowing some parts, but he needs to remember Harry, at least. Harry needs him to — how is he supposed to live knowing that Louis doesn’t know who he is? There’s no way Harry can let that happen, _right?_

Two days after Louis' birthday, Harry learned something new about the place that he's decided is important to never forget: while there are about two to five guards and nurses around them at all times — be it when they are at the courtyard, dining hall, their cells or wherever they are supposed to be to have their activities —, at night it's different. Harry has a very good notion of time (he had to learn to have it so he could last more than a day ever since he first became _someone_ ), so he knows that when the bedtime bell rings loudly one hour after dinnertime, which happens at eight-twenty p.m, there are only two guards on Harry's cell floor, each one of them at one end of the long hall; when it's four hours after dinnertime, Harry's noticed that only one guard is walking from an end to the other of the hall for an hour until he stops for the rest of the night. Harry knows the man is there, but he isn't as careful and attentive — he is probably asleep on a chair or something.

Four days after Louis' birthday, Harry was sure that the new thing he'd learned is something that happens every night, so he learned that he can still manipulate someone if he tries hard enough — which he usually doesn't need to, given it's a really powerful gift he owns and all that —, and he did. That night, when it was only the one guard walking the long hall, Harry called him and simply asked, with his eyes locked and glaring into the guard's, for the protein bar Harry knew the man had in the pocket of his uniform jacket. 

Harry was shocked for an amount of two seconds when the man got the protein bar from the pocket and deliberately handed it to Harry, who cautiously took it. With his eyes still staring right into the man's, Harry told him to walk away after telling him not to remember a thing. Harry wasn't surprised again when the man did as he was told one more time.

So as he’s sitting on his bed, his legs bouncing in anxiety while he squeezes the edges of the mattress with his hands, he thinks about those two very important things he's learned and what he can do with them to help him and Louis out of this entire situation. Harry needs him to remember. He needs _him_.

 _What is the best way to help someone you love remember you exist?_ He questions himself, and is flooded with memories from all the times Louis told him to google something to answer his stupid questions — he was new in the whole being _someone_ thing, so it wasn’t really his fault he didn’t know many things. Harry sighs, saddened by the memories. He misses Louis, and it hurts. He had never felt this kind of pain until now.

 _You figure that out, there’s no google answer for that one,_ he lamely whispers to himself. Maybe he just needs to keep telling Louis some bits of their time together, as he did on Louis’ birthday. 

He has a few days to think about what he wants to tell Louis next, he didn’t have the chance to do anything alike on Monday because it was new years eve, and that meant there was no session to any patient unless one of them was in a critical case. 

The only thing he knows is that he can't go and manipulate whoever is the man on guard at night to let him out of his cell so he can fetch Louis out of this place. He needs a plan first, and the first step to whatever plan he comes up with is to have Louis remember who Harry is. _That's the right thing to do, right?_

So that leaves him here, having some kind of existential crisis — isn’t it what they call it? He’s pretty sure he’s in that situation. _Think, think, think._

Maybe he can keep telling Louis all the things he’s taught Harry, that seemed to cause some kind of reaction. Harry noticed Louis was way into what he was saying for it to be normal, so maybe that’s a sign that Harry should keep doing that. He doesn’t mind, really, it feels really amazing to talk about something that it’s so meaningful to him.

Louis was right, after all — if there's even a small change about yourself because of what someone has taught you, be it for the good or the bad, it means a big deal.

Harry sighs as he runs his hands over his face — _when isn’t Louis right?_

Harry is about to stand up from his bed when the bars to the cell are being unlocked sooner than he expected. 

“No group session for you today, Styles,” Annoying Mr. Guard lets him know and Harry frowns, confused. “Dr. Malik will be the one with you today.”

Harry doesn’t know what’s going on — isn’t Dr. Zayn Malik supposed to be leading the group session? And why the hell would Harry have to be here instead of that one-hour long group torture? 

Dr. Malik is walking into his small cell room, then, bringing that sense of familiarity with him that causes Harry to frown deeper as he looks at the doctor. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Dr. Malik greets him, sitting right next to him on the bed. His way-too-white medical coat over his contrasting black sweater makes Harry’s eyes hurt. “I’m sorry you couldn’t go to the group session today.” 

“I don’t mind,” Harry’s voice comes out low when he speaks with a shrug.

“Well, that’s good, because you and I have some important matters to discuss.”

Harry stares at him with attentive and cautious eyes, really confused as to what is currently happening. This is very unusual, even though he’s been here for barely over two weeks, he knows it is. He’s in Radley House, after all, nothing here should be unusual. Since when does Harry get doctor’s visits? Especially from one who is apparently new in the place, like Louis is. 

He doesn’t say anything — what is he supposed to, anyway? He waits because that’s the wise thing to do. He waits because Dr. Malik is staring back at him with those dark brown eyes and a blank expression which causes Harry to be aware all of a sudden. 

“So, Harry,” Dr. Malik starts slowly and calmly as if he doesn’t have anything else to do or any other patient to see all day long. “I’m here to ask some easy questions and I need you to answer them honestly, okay? It’s very important.”

Harry wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to answer anything he asks and that someone else is already entitled to asking him anything. He keeps quiet though and decides to go with it because he can’t be surprised by the things that happen in this place. Not anymore, anyway.

“Do you remember your father?” It’s the first question out of Dr. Zayn Malik’s mouth, and there would be nothing easy about this question if Harry’s whole situation wasn't actually fake. 

“Yes,” He shortly answers.

“Do you think he would be disappointed in you if he were here?” 

Harry blinks, actually surprised. What kind of doctor is he? Even Harry knows that’s not something you’re supposed to ask someone who is convicted of murdering their own father.

“Probably.”

Harry watches as Dr. Malik’s nostrils flare as if he’s somehow affected by Harry’s answers, which is weird. 

“Do you remember killing your father, Harry?”

“No,” Harry wants to laugh when he says that small word — he doesn’t _remember_...yeah, right. It’s all a fucking lie, more like.

“Isn’t it funny?” Dr. Malik suddenly stands up and walks to the mirror, looking at himself for a moment before turning around to look at Harry again. “How everyone thinks you did something but your very real memories tell a whole different story?”

Harry is frowning so deep his face might fall off — _what the hell?_ He slowly and cautiously stands up, eyes glued on Zayn Malik and his every movement.

“It’s good that you at least have the decency to think your father would be disappointed,” The words are coming out of Dr. Malik’s mouth and Harry is about to explode. “I know for a fact he is.”

“What?”

“Why do you think I’m here?”

Harry is moving before he can even think about it, and then he has his arms pressed against Zayn Malik’s throat, pressing him against the wall right next to the mirror. He frustratingly notices he doesn’t have his natural speed, but he shelves that realization so he can deal with _now_. 

“Who are you?”

“You’ve always been the slowest one,” Dr. Malik, who’s apparently not Dr. Malik says with mean laughter, his voice strangled due to Harry’s arms pressing him. 

“Who. Are. You,” Harry presses his arms tighter with each word spoken and then releases them enough for the man to speak.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice the first time you saw me,” Fake Doctor mockingly says, smiling wickedly. “You felt something. Didn’t you? What did you think it was? _Love_?” 

“Answer me!” Harry shouts, and he has about five minutes to get something out of whoever this is until Mr. Annoying Guard comes back to see what all the fuss is about.

“I’m hurt, _little bro_. After everything we’ve been through, I thought you’d know as soon as you saw me.”

Harry widens his eyes and takes two steps back, then. _Oh, man,_ he thinks, _this is it._

“Zagan?" He gasps. "What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Looking after you, of course,” Zayn, who is actually Zagan, whom Harry definitely hates, walks back to Harry’s bed and comfortably sits there, crossing his legs one over the other, watching as Harry has a mental breakdown. “And my name is Zayn up here, please. Also, you know what happens when you fuck up."

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The deadline.”

Harry’s heart stops for a moment while he stares at his _brother_ with fearful and worried eyes. It all seems to click into place, right then. He knew this was some sort of punishment, at least now he knows what this is _all_ about. 

Being locked up in a nuthouse and treated by someone he loves but who doesn’t remember him? This is punishment — he had been warned about love, once upon a time, before being sent to an impossible mission. 

This is his own personal hell. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry plays dumb, and he wants to cry like a whiny baby.

He wants to cry and scream bloody murder because suddenly making Louis remember everything is a hundred times more necessary and important than before. It is, isn't it? If Zagan is here...do they _know_? Louis needs to remember because it means he could be aware and careful at all times. _Right_?

“Sure you do,” Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Father knows you care about two or three of these people, so he wanted to have a blast with it.”

“I don’t know why you’re here, but you need to fucking leave.”

“I’m here to keep an eye on you, little brother, while Father cleans up your mess to find what you weren’t able to.”

Harry stops breathing for three seconds — they actually don’t _know_. 

“There was a deadline for a reason, you know. If you would’ve stopped playing pretend and went on with what you were told to, we wouldn’t need to play pretend _here_.”

“Stay away from me,” Harry demands, but what he really wants to say is: _stay away from Louis._

He doesn’t, though, of course. _They don’t know,_ and that leaves Harry one step ahead. 

“Fine, fine,” Zayn gets up and starts making his way to the iron bars. Before leaving, he turns to look at Harry one more time with an amused smile and says: “You’ve made Father so angry, _Haures_. You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Harry takes a deep breath once Zayn is gone, trying to slow his heart down. He stares at the white of his sheets in deep thoughts.

Well, he is yet again on another mission, it seems. Only this time it’s all for the right reasons. 


	6. Chapter 6

**L O U I S**

_**I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you** _

_**I could never look away** _

Cat’s Eye Pub has never been so crowded on a Thursday like it is on this one in specific. Louis is all up to celebrating at his and his best friend’s favorite spot to have some drinks, but when it’s as crowded as it is tonight, it’s a bit annoying. Especially when the place isn’t even that big. 

“Come on, mate, smile up! First official job and all that!” Niall, his Irish best friend, who happens to be the pub’s owner’s brother, says with a wide smile and bright eyes. 

“Sorry,” Louis chuckles as he looks around. They’re standing by the counter so they don’t need any waiter to take their drinks to where they would be sitting. “It’s just really loud and crowded.”

“Since when don’t you like loud and crowded places?” Niall glares at him and Louis shrugs, laughing. “You know what? Drink up. You don’t have anything tomorrow early in the morning, so no excuses!”

“Fine, fine,” He rolls his eyes with a sigh as if what Niall is asking of him is the most absurd thing. He brings the mug of beer in his hand up to his lips and gulps down the last half of it, carefully slamming it back on the counter when he’s done. “Satisfied?”

“Damn, Louis,” Niall pulls a funny impressed face, doing the same as Louis and finishing up the rest of his own mug, cackling a burst of loud laughter right after.

Louis shrugs once again, laughing with him. Niall calls one of the bartenders working that night to ask for two more mugs, chatting the person up while doing it because it's a very beautiful brunette woman and Niall happens to love women. As he does that, Louis looks around the place again and his eyes catch something walking through the door. Well, not something, of course, but  _ someone _ .

Messy brown curls tucked behind cute ears, reaching the lines of a very shaped and sharp jaw slowly walk through the crowd, and Louis can’t look away. That very lean body is wearing all black — black jeans, black T-shirt, black jacket, black boots —, causing the very nice looking skin to stand out. That very lean body also has a very nice looking face. 

Well, in conclusion, probably the most beautiful man Louis has ever laid eyes on. 

He knows Niall is saying something as the bartender places their mugs on the counter in front of them, but he doesn’t listen. He can’t because he is too busy being a fucking creep watching pretty curls make his way through the crowd.

Louis watches as the man stops by the counter, two people between them, keeping Louis from seeing him up close, and stares at the drink shelf covering half of the wall across the counter for a moment before the same bartender Niall keeps chatting up greets him with a kind smile, asking what he would like to have for a drink. The man takes a moment to answer, but then he is pointing to a bottle of blue vodka, and Louis is raising his eyebrows in surprise — he wouldn’t take him for a bad drink kind of man.

The brunette bartender pours the blue liquid into a shot glass and Louis pulls a face because he hates that drink. 

“Louis, are you listening to me?” He hears Niall talking to him and nods, even though he has no idea what he is saying, strangely fascinated by the man. 

The man quickly swallows down the blue drink in one gulp and makes the most disgusted face Louis has ever seen — that’s the face of someone who is drinking that for the first time. The man actually has what it looks like to be a feeling of nausea, covering his mouth with his right hand with widened eyes.

Louis doesn’t think when he suddenly excuses himself after leaving his mug on the counter and tapping at the two people’s shoulders so he can make his way to a standing position right next to the curly-haired man. He doesn’t care that Niall is calling after him as he goes. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asks with a small chuckle and the man is quick to turn his head and look at him, startled.

Louis’ heart skips a beat when their eyes meet, as cliche as that sounds — that’s probably the deepest kind of green eyes Louis has ever seen, and maybe that’s why he is even more fascinated, then. He can’t look away, he just can’t. 

He’s so distracted with all the being fascinated by the prettiest man he’s ever seen that he doesn’t even realize that said man is still staring at him, eyes wide and lost, not saying anything.

“That drink isn’t the best,” Louis says, then, trying to be explanatory as to why he is there asking if the man is alright. “To be honest, no colorful vodka is good. Can I buy you something that won’t make you gag, maybe?” 

Louis is smiling at him, hoping, while the man is still staring at him, now a bit suspicious, really, as if he doesn’t get why Louis is there talking to him at all. His eyes aren't as wide as before, but he nods in agreement anyway. 

“Hey, Joan,” Louis calls the brunette bartender and she walks to them with a smile. Louis can see from the corner of his eye that Niall is watching him with narrowed eyes, but he doesn’t care about it for the moment. Niall can be by himself for a while — he’s friendly enough to talk to whoever he wants to. “Would you get him a Black and Tan, please?” He asks, nodding his head to the side so she knows who it is for. Not that it would make a difference, really, but still. 

“Sure thing,” She turns around to get what she needs to prepare the drink and it doesn’t take her more than three minutes to do so, placing the shaker pint glass on the counter in front of the man.

“Thank you, love. Just put it on my tab,” Louis tells her and she nods with a knowing smile. 

He pays no mind to that and turns to look at the man, whose name Louis is actually itching to know, noticing he is staring at the glass with a funny face. 

“I promise it’s good. Better than that blue thing,” Louis tells him, and the man’s green eyes meet his own eyes once again, causing Louis to hold his breath for a moment until he’s watching one of the man’s big hands wrap around the glass to bring it to his plump, red lips. He takes a long sip of the drink, and this time he doesn’t pull a disgusted face. “So?”

“Thank you,” The man finally speaks, and Louis’ heart might explode. His voice is deep and raspy, almost too low to hear with all the noise in the pub, but somehow loud enough to make Louis want to drop to his knees and beg for him to say something right into his ear. “This one doesn’t make me wanna puke my guts out.”

Louis chuckles lightly, his eyes glued to every reaction the man has as he takes sip after sip of the drink. 

“I think it’ll make you want more, actually.”

“Are you drinking the same?”

“No, no. I’m having some good ol’ Harp,” Louis says and the man looks at him with confused eyes. “Um. It’s an Irish beer.”

“Oh,” The man looks back to the drink in his hand and then back at Louis. “Is this?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles amusedly. “Is this your first time having a drink, like, ever?”

The man tilts his head to the side, thoughtful looking. Louis can’t take his eyes off of him. 

“Yes, actually,” He answers and gulps down the last bit of the drink in the glass. 

Louis smiles at that, looking around for a moment before lading his eyes on the man again, who is staring at him curiously, causing him to feel a funny feeling for a moment.

“Are you here by yourself?” 

“Yes,” The man says simply. “I’m new here. I don’t know anyone.”

“Really?” Louis blinks in surprise and smiles amusedly. “Why would someone come to Baltimore if they don’t know anyone here?”

The man seems to be taken by surprise with Louis’ question, licking his lips as he thinks about it. Louis patiently waits, thinking that it was probably a very insensitive question to make. 

“I needed a fresh start, I guess,” He gets for an answer.

“Well, now you know someone,” Louis smiles as he offers his right hand for a handshake. The man looks from Louis’ hands to his eyes twice before carefully holding out his own hand. Louis tries his best not to smile too wider as he wraps his hand around the man’s, shaking it slowly. “I’m Louis.”

The hold on Louis’ hand is tight as the man keeps looking at him, tilting his head to the side as if he’s carefully and cautiously paying attention to every single detail on Louis’ face. Louis’ heart melts a little bit when the man lets a small smile grow on the corner of this beautiful mouth.

“I’m Harry.”

Louis opens his eyes slowly to find himself wrapped in his thick white blanket. He’s confused for a while until he realizes he is in his room in Radley and his alarm is ringing loudly. He groans quietly as he stretches his body and reaches out for his phone on the nightstand to turn the damn alarm off.

After doing so, he stares at the white ceiling above him, thoughtful while breathing in and out deep. He lets himself think about the dream and gets more confused the more he does so. 

He runs his hands over his face, groaning tiredly and frustratingly — why would he have such a dream about meeting Harry, his  _ patient _ ? 

Louis can’t seem to shake this feeling that the dream wasn’t just a dream, but some kind of memory, if that even makes any sense — why would it feel like a memory involving Harry, of all people? And even if it  _ feels _ like a memory, he doesn’t remember any of it. He remembers going out to Cat’s Eye Pub with Niall to celebrate his first job a few months after graduating, but that’s it. They got wasted on beer and went home. Louis didn’t meet anyone new that night, so having this dream is beyond weird and creepy. And very,  _ very _ specific. 

He sits up on the bed, sighing deeply before making his way to the bathroom, trying to leave the fact that he’s dreamed about meeting Harry Styles somewhere other than Radley House and feeling  _ things _ about the whole dream scene. 

In the shower, Louis has his eyes closed when frustration and some kind of anxiety hit him hard with the images from the creepy dream and the same flashes from the other getting all mixed up together — he’s in the bar meeting Harry and feeling  _ things  _ and then he’s on the couch at his apartment laughing with someone sitting right there with him, the fondness in his eyes very similar to the one in his eyes in the dream. 

He forces himself to stop thinking about it (because it makes no sense at all) as he replaces thoughts about it with his schedule for today. 

Louis has many things to do instead of thinking about dreaming about Harry Styles, how good it actually felt, and how much it felt like a memory more than anything. He doesn’t allow himself to think it would have been nice if it were a real memory.  _ He doesn’t _ .

He gets dressed, goes on about his day, and does his best to not think about it.

He isn’t really that successful. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes my heart break a little, even though it's one of my favorites! Poor Harry, he misses the love of his life :( I hope you're all enjoying their journey! I promise it will all make sense very soon.

**H A R R Y**

_**I can almost see you** _

The snow makes it impossible for Harry and everybody else to spend some time in the courtyard — which is why Harry has never been a fan of snowy days, ever since he first saw it. Everything is so white and so cold and so depressing, what is there about it to love? He doesn’t really hate it anymore, but it doesn’t mean he loves it. 

Because it has been snowing for a while now, it means he got to spend his entire day inside the green building that day. Since he didn't have any therapy session, private or group like, he killed his time getting to know a little bit more about the building (at least as far he could go to get to know it). He was allowed to wander the halls of many wide rooms on the first floor, as long as someone was walking with him, which happened to be Mr. Saltz, the lovely, _lovely_ , guard responsible for taking him to every activity or therapy session he is supposed to go. The problem was that the _lovely_ man was in charge of him throughout the day — Harry didn't really appreciate that. There were many other guards not as unpleasant as Mr. Saltz.

At least Harry learned a bit more about the damn building. Many empty rooms which he has yet to figure out what they are for — not for group therapy sessions, that's for sure, for if that was the case, he would be placed in one of those when he's the one participating in those sessions. Harry didn't find anything that interesting besides a very wide and old auditorium with a rusty wooden stage and dusty chairs. Harry found it very peculiar for a place like this — what do they even use it for? It looks like nobody has used it for years. 

Now, a few minutes past bedtime, Harry lays in his not very comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, even though he can't see anything due to all the lights off. He's thinking about the auditorium, and he's been doing so for a while now.

It's funny how sometimes it's so difficult to stop thinking about something so random because it reminds you of someone who used to bring you so much joy.

_He still does_ , a voice in his mind whispers quietly and assuringly. It makes his eyes watery, but he pays no mind to that. He thinks about the auditorium and what it reminds him of. 

He starts humming a song that makes his heart race as if it were running a marathon or something. He does it as quiet as he can be, just so he's the only one listening and no stupid guard storms in to disturb his moment. 

Harry closes his eyes then, still humming the song and letting his heart and mind take him somewhere far away from what he's going through. He focuses on nothing but the sound of his breath and humming, shutting everything else out. No nuthouse. No stupid guard. No Louis not remembering who he is.

For that moment, then, he isn't in a fucking cell, but walking hand in hand with Louis in a very fine and warm evening, with no snow to keep them locked inside.

"What did you think?" Louis is asking him as they walk down St. Paul Street after watching a very long play in the Baltimore Center Stage. 

"They sang a lot," Harry comments with a smile, not bothering to look ahead for he's too busy looking at Louis. 

"Well, it's a musical. What did you expect?" 

"I didn't really expect anything," Harry tells him with a shrug and it makes Louis roll his eyes. Harry feels his heart thump a bit faster every time Louis does that, especially when he's keeping himself from smiling as wide as he does when Harry says something that amuses him. 

"You never expect anything from whatever I show you," Louis says with a huff, but Harry knows he isn't really annoyed. 

It's five months after they met for the first time, and he wishes he could simply tell Louis that the reason he never expects anything from what Louis shows him, it's because he never knows what to expect. How could he? He doesn't know anything about anything here.

"That's because I trust you to show me the good stuff."

"Ugh," Louis groans and squeezes Harry's hand, pulling him forward so they start walking faster. "Come, I wanna show you something."

"Good stuff, I bet," Harry says playfully, causing Louis to burst out laughing. 

"Shut up!"

Louis takes them to his car and unlocks it, quickly getting inside and turning the engine on. 

"You wanted to show me your car?" Harry asks with a chuckle once he's inside, putting the seatbelt on. 

"No, Harry," Louis glares at him before driving out of the parking spot and into the road. "I need it to take you to what I wanna show you."

"Fine. What do you wanna show me?"

"You'll see when we get there."

"Ugh, you're useless," Harry groans dramatically and Louis chuckles amusedly, patting him on the knee. "Fine, then tell me something. Why were those people singing the whole time, again?"

"Because it's a musical, Harry. People sing in musicals," Louis informs him. "How do you not know that?"

"I don't keep up with, um...arts and stuff."

Harry doesn't like lying to Louis, not at all. However, some things he doesn't even count as lying — he doesn't keep up with the arts. He doesn't have those where he comes from. So, no, he isn't really lying. The fact that he's omitting the whole truth is what bothers him so deeply. 

"And you dare call _me_ useless," Louis briefly looks at him, giving him a playful glare. "I'll help you keep up with arts and stuff, then. We'll have a musical marathon next weekend."

"What do you mean?" Harry frowns, looking at Louis with confused eyes.

"What?" Louis asks in a giggle.

"Musical marathon? What — we'll be singing and dancing the whole weekend?"

Louis is silent for a moment, but Harry can see he is holding himself back from laughing his ass off. Harry also appreciates when that happens, even when it's on his behalf.

"Are you for real?"

"What?!"

"No, Harry, we will _not_ be singing and dancing the whole weekend. We'll be watching _people_ sing and dance for the whole weekend. On TV."

"Oh," Harry nods. "That makes more sense."

"Huh, no kidding."

"Don't make fun of me!"

"I'm not!" Louis laughs and it kind of proves him wrong. Harry doesn't mind, though. "It's just that sometimes it seems like you don't even live on the same dimension I do."

"Now _that_ doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Louis agrees as he parks the car, twenty minutes later. "It doesn't matter, though, because we're here."

Harry looks out the window and realizes they're currently at the parking lot of a place they have been together before.

"Druid Hill Park?" Harry questions when he looks back at Louis. "I've been here before. With you."

"Yeah, I know. Not when it's dark out, though," Louis opens the door to his side and smiles at Harry. "Come on."

Harry grins, then, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind him. Louis locks the car by pressing the alarm buttons on his key and walks to Harry so he can hold his hand once again. 

"Isn't it a bit late to be here?" Harry asks once they start walking towards the park entrance. 

"It's open twenty-four hours. Also, it's not even ten p.m."

"What do you wanna show me here?"

"Come here," Louis directs them to the soldier holding a sword statue by the lake, smiling all the way. Harry can't help but do the same. 

"Okay?" Harry glances at Louis once they stop right in front of the statue

"I wanna sit right here."

"On the grass?" Harry chuckles as he watches Louis sit down, smiling up at him.

"Sit your ass down," Louis demands with a loud voice and beautiful smile.

Harry doesn't think twice before doing as he's told, staring out at the lake before guiding his eyes back to Louis, who's staring forward with a peaceful smile. Harry doesn't want to look at anything else ever again now that he can look at Louis whenever he needs or wants to. He could never look away, really. He is taken. He will never go back. 

"What are we here for?" Harry quietly asks, breaking the silence. 

"Stargazing," Louis responds with a soft smile before taking his phone out of the front pocket to his jeans and his earplugs out of his sweatshirt pocket. 

Harry can't stop smiling, and he doesn't remember ever smiling like this. He doesn't remember if he ever knew what smiling feels like. He watches as Louis plugs the earphones into his cell phone and lays back on the grass, inviting Harry to do the same with those blue eyes stuck on Harry's. 

"Here, put this on," After Harry lays back right there with him, Louis gives him one earplug. "I wanna show you this song."

"Okay."

Louis press play on his music app and a very slow and peaceful song starts playing. Harry watches him close his eyes once a very slow and nice piano takes place on the song, along with a very soothing guitar solo and whatever other instruments that make the song sound so peaceful and comforting. 

"There are no words," Harry whispers when they're far into the song and no one has sung anything. He sees Louis smiling softly as he turns his head to look at him. "Isn't there supposed to be words in it?"

"You're supposed to feel it," Louis explains to him, turning his head back to look up at the stars. "Close your eyes and let yourself feel it."

Harry does so at the same time a beautiful soothing voice sings something in the background. _See_ , she sings with a long calming note. _See you_ , she keeps singing until Harry's body feels like it will float away. 

"What is it called?" Harry asks Louis once the song starts all over, his voice a whisper. 

"I Can Almost See You."

Harry takes a deep breath and opens his eyes so he can look at Louis, who's got his own eyes still closed. His feature looks peaceful, and Harry wants to never think of anything else now that the only thing he can think about is Louis and how beautiful he is. 

"It's funny," Harry starts and Louis opens his eyes to look back at him. "Everything kinda sounds exactly like this whenever I see you."

Louis doesn't say anything while he looks at Harry as if he's out of this world — maybe he isn't wrong, after all. Louis doesn't say anything for what it seems to be a very long time staring into each other's eyes, so Harry decides he'll keep talking until Louis stops him. 

"I mean...if there was a way to describe a sound to what it feels like looking at you, this would be it," Harry lets the words out as the song keeps playing, and he has never said such things. He doesn't even know if he's making any sense. His heart is racing and he thinks he is sweating. He doesn't really know what is going on. "Does it make sense? You sound like this song to me. Peaceful, comforting. Soothing. It's like I've been sleeping in a twenty-year dark night and then there you are. Soothing and peaceful and bright. Like daylight."

"Harry," Louis whispers his name like a prayer and Harry blinks at him, wandering his eyes all over his delicate face. 

"I'm sorry if I don't make any sense."

"I love you."

It's dead silent, then, except the song on repeat. _See you_ , the woman is chanting and Harry doesn't want to see and look at anything or anyone else besides the heavenly gorgeous man staring at him with wide, honest blue eyes. 

Harry has heard those words before but never directed at him. He's only ever heard them because Louis enjoys watching movies in which the characters always say them to each other. Harry had never heard them before the first time he watched one of those movies with Louis. 

From what Harry's realized, the three words mean a big deal. A very big deal. Harry understands that it means to care strongly and deeply for someone, but he doesn't fully comprehend how deep. 

"What do you mean?" He genuinely asks because he doesn't _know_.

He wonders if he is capable of feeling the three words. Maybe he is — he can feel the song and relate to how _he_ feels around Louis. Is it _that_? 

"I mean I _love_ you," Louis repeats the three words. His voice is low and soft, which makes Harry want to wrap his arms around his body and keep him there for the rest of their lives. Is it _that_?

"But —," Harry sits up, causing the earplug to fall to the ground. " _How_?"

" _Harry_ ," Louis grabs one of Harry's hands as he sits up as well, tilting his head to the side as he attentively looks at Harry.

"Louis, I don't —," Harry blinks the unwanted tears away. _What the hell?_ This is a first. "I don't know what _that_ is."

"What?" Louis frowns, confused, and disturbed. Harry doesn't want that look on his face. Harry wants him smiling and happy at all times.

"What does it _mean_ ?" Harry asks again, squeezing Louis' hand tightly. "Louis, I've never _felt_ that before."

Louis lifts his free hand to softly touch Harry's cheek, allowing an affectionate smile to take over his face. 

"Neither have I," Louis murmurs as he traces Harry's lips with his fingers. "At least not towards anyone who wasn't my mom or sisters."

"I _literally_ have never felt that before," Harry confesses and Louis frowns at what is said for a moment before he shakes his head with a small smile, still tracing every line on Harry's face with his soft fingers. 

"Sometimes I don't know how to deal with you," Louis admits, his eyes as blue as a bright blue sky. "With your words."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispers and closes his eyes as Louis traces his eyebrows and eyelids. 

"Don't apologize," Louis replies. "You make me feel like someone I've never been before," Harry opens his eyes to find Louis' face close to his own. "Not in a bad way, not at all. Everything also sounds like that song when I see you."

"You _do_ make me someone I've never been before," Harry declares, and he wishes he could say so much more. "I don't wanna be anyone else now that I know who I am with you."

Louis smiles softly at him before pressing their lips together in a sweet and quick kiss. " _That_ is what I mean. I _love_ you."

Harry blinks at him, thinking. He smiles gently before urging his lips against Louis' once more. What he doesn't say with words, he hopes to say with his lips worshipping every ounce of Louis' light and delicate traits. 

In a long blink of his tired eyes, Harry is back in his dark cell, all alone with nothing but the void in his chest and the fear of Louis never knowing they lived something like that together.

With a long and mournful sigh, Harry turns to his side before pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and closing his eyes to sleep the sadness away.


	8. Chapter 8

**L O U I S**

_**I'm so intent to find out what it is** _

_**  
This is my rubik's cube, I know I will figure it out** _

Louis thinks about  _ the _ _ dream  _ more than he would care to admit.

On the first day after it happened, it was like a movie playing on a loop in his mind, deflecting him from friendly conversations or even appointments with the few other patients he had for the day. Not Harry, thankfully. And it's not like he wasn't paying attention to any of them, because he was. It's just that while doing so, he was also thinking about the damn dream.

The following days, though, it wasn't like  _ thinking about it _ , but like the situation was making fun of him — he would go about his business and then a flash of a random part of the dream would strike him like lightning, causing him to stop talking or doing whatever it was he was doing. It was like one of those feelings you get and leaves you starstruck —  _ what is that?  _ It makes you ask yourself.

One of those feelings that can burn you inside out — can a  _ feeling _ do that?

How can a  _ dream  _ feel so much like a memory Louis can't quite tell if it's real or not? It makes his skin burn, how can it  _ do _ that?

It's been four days since it happened and he's been doing his best to pretend it didn't — even though he gets this strange feeling whenever he's struck by flashes of the dream —, especially when Harry is the patient sitting across him in his office.

Today, though, it seems like it will be an impossible task to accomplish for some reason.

Harry has just sat on the black armchair, and as soon as he did, a flash of Harry telling him his name for the first time in the dream flooded into his mind like an avalanche washing everything in front of it away.

For the first time, Louis isn't the first one to speak, given that he's tense in his own armchair, looking at Harry with wide eyes while breathing in and out way too quickly.

"Dr. Tomlinson, are you alright?" Harry is asking him, and for some reason, his voice sounds louder than Louis knows it actually is. It's like it's right there, into his ear, so  _ familiar _ .

Louis doesn't know what is going on —  _ what is this?  _ A voice in his brain asks, sounding just as desperate as he is at the moment. Are dreams supposed to make someone feel this way? Louis is a psychiatrist, he should  _ know _ .

And he does. He knows dreams can only make someone feel like he is feeling right now if it's something that has caused some kind of trauma to the person. At least when it's a bad kind of feeling —  _ this is a bad kind of feeling, isn't it? _ The voice makes another question that he once again can't answer.

"Dr. Tomlinson?" Harry's voice brings Louis back to the current moment, and Louis hates that he looks so much like he did in Louis' dream. Maybe if he didn't, Louis wouldn't be freaking out right now.

"Harry, I'm sorry," He finally speaks, adjusting himself on the armchair so that he doesn't look like a creep, just sitting there motionless while staring at Harry. "How are you today?"

Harry tilts his head to the side, watching Louis thoughtfully — he does that, every time. Louis hates that he does that. It's not right. Louis is supposed to be the one watching and studying him to be helpful. Not him. He shouldn't be looking at Louis like that, bringing every feeling Louis seemed to feel in the dream to the surface.

"Would you go back in time if it was possible, Dr. Tomlinson?" Harry asks instead of answering whether he is fine or not. Louis blinks at him, surprised by the question — it's one more thing that Harry does: he surprises Louis more than Louis would want it to happen.

"If I could choose  _ when _ I would go back to, then I guess I would," Louis answers him honestly, his voice coming out a bit shaky due to all the  _ feelings _ he can't explain. "Would you?"

"Yeah," Harry says, his eyes staring into Louis' as if there would never be anything else for him to look at. Louis closes his notepad and places it on his lap, slightly uncomfortable under the deep staring. "Though there isn't much I would change."

"Is there a specific time you would go back to?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Louis asks as he rests his arms on the arms of the chair, holding onto it for dear life. It's like it's his first session with him all over again —  _ why am I so anxious and nervous? It was just a fucking dream. _

"I would go back to where I come from," Harry tells him. "So I could do it all over again."

Louis briefly frowns, trying to recall if somewhere in Harry's file says where he comes from. It doesn't, which is once again absurd. What is it with these people not having basic information about a patient?

He wonders if Harry is talking about killing his own father — is that what he would go back to? He doesn't ask, though, rather allowing Harry to decide when to go back to speaking.

"I would've told  _ him _ sooner, though," Harry confesses lowly after long few seconds, though Louis has no idea what he is talking about. "Maybe I wouldn't be here today."

"Are you talking about the person who's taught you not to hate snow?" Louis sends him a tentative smile and Harry blinks at him, eyes a bit red and shiny. Louis tries not to react to the fact that Harry is on the verge of tears.

"Yes."

"What would you have told him sooner?" Louis questions. Harry stares at him with no intention to answer it. "Does he know you killed your father, Harry? Is that what you would have told him sooner?"

Then Harry laughs humorlessly. It's a very ironic and dry laugh, but it's a quick one. As soon as he does so, he stops with his watery watching eyes glued to Louis', a hardened but on the verge of deeply sad look on his face. Louis' gets that burning feeling once again.

"I didn't kill my father, Dr. Tomlinson, " Louis gets as a response, and he knows that's denial. He  _ knows _ that. He remembers in their first session when Harry insinuated not killing his father, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that he's doing it again.

_ Why does it surprise me, then?  _ Louis asks himself in his mind as he carefully watches Harry, who's seemingly waiting for a reaction coming from Louis.

Louis can tell when a patient is in denial or straight-up lying — they don't look into his eyes or their voice get a bit louder and shaky; they keep touching their face or their hair, among some other things, which Harry hasn't done. Any. He said it with his eyes on Louis' and voice firm and sure, hands firmly rested on his knees.

Hence Louis' difficulty in trying to figure out if Harry, who's a mentally ill convicted murderer, isn't playing him by trying to trick him into believing his significant words.

"Haven't you figured that out yet?"

Louis blinks at his question, taking it in. He hasn't figured anything out, no. The only thing he is sure of is that nobody here seems to fully know this patient's story and that he is a very, very confused and lost man. Besides that, Louis doesn't seem to know anything at all but the vague information in Harry's file and the little bits the man decides to share with him — like the person who's supposedly taught him some things, for example.

"Why did you kill your father, Harry?" Louis decides to ask — maybe if he's straight forward with the questions and advice, he can get something out of the man other than these confusing and vague bits of his life.

"I did not kill my father."

"Harry, they just don't put people in a place like this," Louis tries to reason, being as careful and clear with his words as he can be. "You're convicted of a very serious crime, and if you don't admit it to yourself, I can't help you."

"I can't admit something I didn't do, Dr. Tomlinson," Harry says with a frown. "You can't help me come to terms with something I did  _ not _ do."

"Tell me what happened that night, then."

"Nothing happened that night, " Louis sighs deeply at the answer, extremely tense on his chair. He doesn't know why this whole story is getting to him so much. Harry is looking at him expectantly, and then there's yet another flash of Harry looking at him for the first time in his dream, causing him to swallow loudly and take a deep breath as to try to calm down. 

"Tell me about the days after it happened, then. You carried on with your life. How were you feeling?" Louis tries a different question, but Harry is still frowning at him with no intention of answering anything.

"I didn't carry on with my life, Dr. Tomlinson. There were no days after it happened for it  _ didn't _ happen," Harry argues with certainty in his deep green eyes. "Do you even know where it supposedly happened?"

"In Baltimore," Louis quickly responds, even though he doesn't know. He just wants to get something other than lies out of Harry.

_ He is lying, right? _

"Is that what it says in my file?" Harry asks with raised eyebrows. "I'm not even from Baltimore, Dr. Tomlinson. Did you know that?"

Louis doesn't say anything, and he doesn't move as a flash of Harry shaking his hand for the first time make him almost gasp for air as if he was drowning.

"I wouldn't have told  _ him _ sooner about killing my father, Dr. Tomlinson, because I didn't do it," Harry tells him.

"What is it you would have told  _ him _ sooner, then?" Louis cautiously asks, still trying to keep his breathing and heart under control.

"About the deadline."

Louis stops breathing for a moment, his mind running a hundred miles a minute —  _ deadline _ ,  _ deadline _ , a tiny voice at the back of his mind keeps chanting while he sees himself standing in front of a small house made of white painted wood surrounded by miles and miles of a tall wheat plantation as the sun burns bright and extremely hot in the clean blue sky, the image mixing up with Harry telling him his name for the first time in his dream and making him breathe in and out too fast as if he has never done it before.

He can feel himself gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his fingers hurt, but he can't wrap his mind around reality for a moment. It's like he's stuck between the dream of meeting Harry for the first time — which still feels a lot like a memory, even if it doesn't make any sense — and the image of him standing in front of that random wood house, just staring at it.

_ What's happening to me? _ He is asking himself in his crowded mind, still gripping the arms of the chair for dear life.

"Dr. Tomlinson?" He can hear Harry calling for him, and he can see the man worriedly looking at him from his own chair. "Dr. Tomlinson, are you alright?"

Louis can't speak, he can't think of anything other than Harry telling him his name for the first time and himself surrounded by that wheat plantation. He's never been to any kind of plantation before.

"Louis!"

That seems to get him out of his daze — he blinks quickly to find Harry kneeling right in front of him, his warm hands covering Louis' ones, which are still gripping the chair.

"Louis," Harry repeats, his voice low and worrying while his eyes are looking up at Louis, searching. It's the second time Harry says his first name, and it gives Louis a strange feeling of familiarity once again. Why does Harry say his name as if he  _ knows _ him?

Louis looks at him for a second before averting his eyes to where Harry's hands are sweetly covering his on the arms of the chair.

_ Well _ , those are ripped and broken.

Louis widens his eyes and is fast to take his hands away, gripping the notepad on his lap instead. He's looking at the damage — has he really done that? With his  _ hands _ ? That's a tough leather. Louis' nails are trimmed. What's that under all the leather?  _ Iron _ ?

" _ Louis _ . Dr. Tomlinson, do you hear me?"

Louis blinks once again and looks at Harry, still down on his knees.

"Harry. I—," He takes a deep shaky breath, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. "Our time is up. You can go now."

"Dr. Tomlinson, are you sure—"

"Yes, Harry. We'll finish our talk next session, alright? Great progress today," Louis quickly stands up from the ripped chair, almost causing Harry to fall on his ass, given that he's still kneeling. 

He throws his notepad on the chair before watching Harry slowly stand to his feet, his eyes never leaving Louis' face for not even a second. 

There's something about the way he is looking at Louis that makes something extremely familiar carve its way into his heart. It's not like the way he was looking at Louis for the first time in the dream, it's different. In the dream, Harry didn't know him. Right here and right now, Harry is looking at him like he has known Louis his whole life.  _ Why does he feel so familiar? _

"Ahem," Louis clears his throat awkwardly, placing his hands on his hips, briefly looking from Harry to the armchair. "I guess I need a new chair."

Harry tilts his head to the side as he carefully and attentively watches Louis. There's a hint of a small smile threatening to form his lips, but Harry doesn't allow it to. 

"That's quite the strength you have, Dr. Tomlinson."

Louis takes a deep shaky breath and nods with his lips pressed tight. 

"See you next session, Harry," He says and walks to the door to open it, inviting Harry out. "Perrie! Harry is ready to go."

"Oh, oh!" Perrie walks around the counter to rush her way to Louis' office door. Harry is still watching Louis like a hawk. "Let's get you to your next schedule, then." 

"Storeroom duty?" Louis asks her, even though he already knows the answer. For some reason, he now knows Harry's weekly schedule by heart. 

Perrie nods with a kind smile before saying: "Great time to make friends while organizing stuff, huh?" She looks at Harry, who has yet to stop looking at Louis.

"See you later, Dr. Tomlinson," Harry says lowly as soon as Mr. Saltz walks through the building entrance door towards them, grabbing Harry by the arm and taking him away through the hallway. 

Harry only stops looking at Louis when Mr. Saltz turns them to the right into another hallway, away from Louis and Perrie. 

"Are you alright, Louis?" Perrie asks him worriedly, placing one of her small cold hands on his shoulder.

"Oh. Yeah, yeah," He says while shaking his head before looking at her with a polite smile.

"Are you sure? You look kind of pale."

"I'm sure," He nods. "Lunch together today?"

"Yeah, of course," She says with a smile. "I think Zayn will join us."

"Nice. I haven't talked much to him yet."

"We'll all get to know each other, then," She smiles bigger. 

"See you later, then," He smiles back at her before she waves at him and walks back to the reception counter.

Louis closes the door behind him once he is back inside the office and takes a deep, long breath.  _ What the hell? _

He looks at his armchair and wants to scream.  _ How did that happen? _ He asks in his mind.

"Fuck," Louis murmurs as he makes his way to his desk and turns his laptop on. "What the actual fuck." 

He impatiently waits for the laptop to work so he can open the google search and type what he should have dug into the first time he looking into Harry's file.

_ Harry Styles kills his father _ , he types so quickly the keyboard actually sounds like it's about to break. 

He has some long homework to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**H A R R Y**

**_I loved and I lost you_ **

**_And it hurts like Hell_ **

Harry doesn’t sleep that night. 

How could he? His mind doesn’t stop reminding him of his therapy session with Louis earlier that day. His brain keeps replaying it over and over again, causing his heart to feel like a ticking time bomb. Does Louis have some kind of trigger for his past memories that might not all have been forgotten? 

Louis had a breakdown to Harry saying _deadline_ , and maybe that’s it. Maybe Louis has all of his memories somewhere in his mind, he just needs a little push to help him remember them. He has his memories and he has his strength, it’s all there. 

_Fuck, he’s still so strong_ . He’s still there. He's still _his_ Louis.

Harry needs him to remember. Harry needs him back. Harry needs him now more than ever. 

That’s all the motivation he needs to get up from his bed and walk to the iron bars after putting on his tennis shoes and sweatshirt. 

“Guard!” He calls into the dark hallway with his hands gripping the bars, earning some grumbles from a couple of the other inmates. “Guard! Hello! Guard!” 

The one guard responsible for this part of the night shift walks towards him with a scowl on his face. He is just as tall and strong as Mr. Saltz, the only difference is that he doesn’t look like he is pissed angry all the time. Harry knows his name, of course. He’s Mr. Roy. Harry knows all their names by now. He is also the one who deliberately handed Harry his protein bar the other night. Well, not that deliberately for Harry manipulated him into doing it.

“What are you trying to wake them all up for, Styles?” Mr. Roy questions him in an angry hushed voice, scowling at him. 

“Mr. Roy, thank goodness you came here,” Harry takes a deep and dramatic breath and looks straight into the man’s eyes. “I’m not feeling very well, sir. I’m feeling very claustrophobic right now, it’s like I don’t even know how to breathe anymore.” 

Mr. Roy is staring right back at Harry, like he is being hypnotized — well, maybe he is, then. That’s how it is supposed to work. 

“Do you need me to call a nurse?” Roy asks, his eyes still caught by Harry’s.

“No, sir. No. It would be better if you took me outside instead so I could get some fresh air.” 

“You’re not supposed to leave now,” The guard tries to argue, but it’s pointless. Harry has him.

“I know,” Harry says. “But you’re not supposed to let me die, either, are you? Take me outside.”

Mr. Roy blinks once, twice, three times before he fishes the key from his belt to unlock Harry’s cell. Harry smirks victoriously and gladly steps out of the room. 

“You won’t tell a soul about this, will you?” Harry demands while still looking into the guard's eyes.

“I won’t tell a soul.” 

“Give me your card,” Harry points to Mr. Roy’s ID card clipped onto his shirt. The man does as he's told, laying the item in Harry's hand. "Now, tell me which building Dr. Tomlinson's dorm room is located."

"Purple building."

"The last floor, I'm guessing," Harry ups his eyebrows and Mr. Roy nods in confirmation. Harry places one of his hands on the man's shoulder. "Leave my cell unlocked. Now go and do something about all these cameras so nobody can see me."

Mr. Roy doesn't have to be told twice and walks away to wherever he needs to go to deal with what Harry's asked of him. 

Well, _that_ worked out pretty well. Harry is relieved that at least one of his powers is still useful in this miserable place. 

"Psst!" Harry stops in his tracks as soon as he hears it, and he knows right away where it's coming from. He takes a deep sigh and curses under his breath. " _Pssssssst!_ "

"What do you want, Jason?" Harry asks once he is standing by his neighbor's cell, the one who always greets him before they're on their way to breakfast. 

"How are you out there right now?" The man asks in an astonished whisper. He looks way too thin and sick for someone who looks to be around twenty-two years old. "How did you make that asshole let you out?" 

"Jason," Harry takes a step closer to the man and stares deeply into his eyes. "You saw nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing. You slept the whole night."

"I'm not sleepy," Jason tries to fight Harry's words, but once again, they never really have a choice. 

"You are. Go to bed and forget you saw or heard anything."

Jason complies and only when Harry is sure the man is in his bed with his eyes closed, he turns to walk away, relieved that nobody else appeared to have seen or heard anything. 

Harry rushes out of the Green building, then. There is one guard by the building entrance door, but he is sound asleep in an iron chair, so Harry manages to open and close the door quietly enough to not wake the man up. _This place is a fucking joke_ , he thinks to himself as he makes his way through the courtyard. 

It's dark and cold outside, not a single light pole on to illuminate the damn place — _what's up with that?_

It's also still snowing, although not as much as it has been for the past two weeks. Harry regrets not wearing an extra pair of socks, but he manages to get to the purple building without soaking his feet wet. Once he's standing by the building entrance door, he takes a look through the glass to make sure there aren't many guards there and, just as he suspected, there's only one guarding the reception — just like in the green one. _A joke_ , he thinks to himself once again, _how is this place still working?_

He slides Mr. Roy's card in the doorknob and it silently unlocks, allowing Harry to quietly step into the building. Because the soles of his shoes are now damp from the snow, it makes a squeaky sound as he walks through the hallway towards the elevator, although it seems to not be loud enough, given that the guard is still sound asleep once Harry is safely inside the lift as its doors close with a _ding_ sound.

"Fuck," He murmurs to himself after pressing the button to the last floor, his heart racing by the minute. "What am I doing?" He puts the ID card in his sweatshirt pocket before running his hands over his face worriedly. 

He didn't really think this through. He was supposed to have a plan to help Louis remember everything. It worked for a moment the day before, didn't it? What Harry said triggered something in Louis, but how long will it take for Louis to remember everything if Harry only keeps saying stuff that _might_ be a trigger? He can't live with that. He needs things to happen _now_.

"Fuck. Okay," He sighs deeply when the lift stops and its doors open to a hallway filled with numbers and what it looks like to initial to names on doors. _Well, that makes things a bit easier, at least,_ he thinks as he quietly starts wandering through the hallway. 

_20, P.E,_ it says on a dark yellow door, and Harry figures that's Ms. Perrie's room. _24, Z.M_ , it says on a red door and Harry takes a deep shaky breath. That's Zayn, for sure. _He's here?_ Harry desperately asks in his mind. _On the same floor as Louis is?_

Harry swallows loudly and goes back to looking for Louis' door. He wants to cry — _why is this happening?_ Aren't creatures like him supposed to ever find happiness? Is he supposed to be damned for the rest of his life because of where he is from? This is how he is awarded because he tried to be someone he wasn't supposed to be? 

_28, L.T_ , it says on a dark blue door and it warms Harry's heart — Louis is there, sound asleep and curled under the blankets. Harry wants to be there with him so bad. Harry misses the warmth of his delicate body so much it hurts him like someone's hand squeezing his heart.

With a deep breath, he takes a moment to think of what he is supposed to tell Louis once the door is being opened by him. He can't knock on it without knowing what he has to say to justify the reason he is right there and not in his cell.

"Looking for someone?" A voice startles him out of his thinking before he can knock on Louis' door. He turns around to find Zayn standing by his red door with a knowing smirk lingering on his lips.

" _Zagan_ ," Harry says his name because he has nothing else to say. 

"You're not supposed to be here, little brother. Were you a bad boy and used some of your powers?" Zayn questions with a dark and mocking tone of voice, getting a deep feeling of rage out of Harry. "I thought Father wouldn't let you have those. I guess he's not as angry at you as I'd thought he was."

"Why don't you _leave_?" Harry walks towards him with fisted hands by his sides, eyes glaring and burning. "There's nothing for you here. This place is punishment enough."

" _Harry_ ," Zayn sighs dramatically. "If Father sends us on a mission, we're supposed to do it and not question it. I guess you've forgotten all about that, though. He wants me here. Eyes on you. If I happen to befriend this precious little doctor of yours, that's just me having fun."

"Stay away from him," Harry growls, squeezing his fists tight. 

"Why is he so important to you, anyway? Haven't Father taught you anything? We know we're not supposed to care for them," Zayn crosses his arms over his chest. "I knew that sending you here would be chaotic. What a joke."

"It's none of your fucking business!" Harry hisses. "Don't you get it? If you're here to keep me in check, then do as much. Just stay away from him. He has nothing to do with any of this shit."

Zayn clicks his tongue in disappointment as he shakes his head, looking at Harry with amused eyes. 

" _Haures_ , little brother. You never learn," He says. "Don't you know that when you tell me you don't want me to do something that's exactly what I'll do? Now I'm extremely curious as to why this doctor means so much to you. Is he your first one true love?" 

Harry's breathing is shaky and uneven, his hands hurt from how tightly he is fisting them. 

"I'll kill you."

"No, little brother. You won't," Zayn rolls his eyes. "Now, I can't promise I won't kill _you_. Or, you know, this doctor you seem to irrationally care so deeply about. Watch out, it'd be unwise to make me angry."

" _Zagan_ , I swear to fucking god," Harry takes yet another step closer. Zayn laughs amusedly.

"God?" He shakes his head. " _Please_ . I'll be sure to let Father know about _that_. Now, get the fuck out of here before I break that pretty little door down so I can break your doctor's neck next."

"You wouldn't."

"Don't you know me at all?" Zayn raises his eyebrows challengingly. "Are you sure you wanna risk it knowing that I'm stronger than you right now? Would you be strong enough to stop me?"

" _Zagan_."

"Get the fuck out of here, I said."

Harry narrows his eyes as he breathes in and out so fast his chest kind of aches for a moment. _No_ , he doesn't want to risk it. He knows he isn't stronger than Zayn, not right now anyway. He knows he wouldn't be able to stop him if he were to do anything to harm Louis. Therefore it kills him to slowly walk away back to the elevator while Zayn watches him, that damn knowing smirk still on his face.

"See you in our next group therapy session," Zayn tells him right before Harry steps into the lift. The mocking smile on his face makes Harry's blood burn in his vein. "Don't try any funny business until then."

The doors close before Harry can say anything back, and then he is all alone to deal with the thought that every minute Louis doesn't know the truth about their history, it's a minute something terrible could happen to him.


	10. Chapter 10

**L O U I S**

**_Feel like I'm breathing underwater_ **

**_Trying to climb but I keep falling farther_ **

The laptop is on while Louis stares blankly at the screen with a google search open page, two days after the eventful session he had with Harry. He has the day off today, so he decided it would be a good idea to come to his office anyway and type Harry's name on the google search once again.

As soon as Harry was out of his office two days ago, Louis went into a search mode on the internet and was more than surprised to not find anything about no Harry Styles killing his own father. No article, no post on any social media, no headline at any newspaper whatsoever.

Now, it's seven-fifty-two a.m and Louis has no idea why he can't seem to find anything about Harry's case. He's typed Harry's name with a bunch of random words — killer, murderer, case; crime scene, criminal, CSI, and whatever other detective show there is. He hasn't found anything. It's like Harry doesn't exist, and his dead father never existed at all, to begin with. 

He types _Harry Styles Radley House_ onto the search blank space and is once again frustrated that nothing related to what he is looking for comes up. Louis takes a deep breath as he types _murders around Baltimore_ and is met with articles upon articles about creepy stories in Leakin Park and some other spooky places around the city, but nothing about Harry Styles murdering his father in his sleep. 

Knowing that he won't find anything on the internet about it, which is absurd to even consider it — how is it possible to _not_ find something online these days? —, he closes his laptop with an angry groan before standing up and grabbing his phone, wallet, and keys from the desk, putting the first two in his black coat's right pocket.

Once he is out of his office, he walks towards Perrie in the reception, being greeted with a surprised smile.

"You're here early," She states. "Isn't today your day off?"

"I have some errands to run," He clarifies. "I need a favor, actually."

"What's up?"

"I need Doctor Levine's phone number," He tells her and she lifts her eyebrows, surprised. "I just wanna ask him a few things about some patients."

"Okay," She shrugs and quickly types something on the reception laptop. "Here it is. In case you don't know, his first name is Kevin," She lets him know as she writes his number down on a small piece of paper out of a notepad. 

"Thank you, Perrie," He smiles kindly at her as he takes the piece of paper into his hand. "See you tomorrow."

"See you," She waves at him before he's walking out of the building so he can make his way to the parking lot. 

He unlocks his 2002 silver Jetta — that was a reason for him to be the butt of his friends' jokes for a month or two, even though he worked hard to save enough money to buy it (and also, he was the only one of them to actually have a car) — and gets inside, turning the engine on so the heat is also on and he won't freeze to death. It's a good car, though it's outdated. He's saving up again so he can eventually buy a much newer one, but he's been working this official job for a month. It'll take him a little while to even think about choosing what car he would like to have. 

He fishes his phone and wallet out of his pocket, placing the latter in the glove compartment before checking the number written down on the piece of paper Perrie gave him and typing it on his phone. He saves it in his contacts and opens its chat message.

 _Dr. Levine, good morning. This is Dr. Louis Tomlinson,_ he quickly types, _I'm currently working at Radley House in your previous position and I would like to talk to you about some patients. I happen to have the day off today. Would you so kindly meet me somewhere so we could have some coffee?_

Louis takes a deep breath after sending the text, leaving the phone on his lap for a moment while he grips the steering wheel tightly, wondering why everything is so confusing. Just like every other day since _the dream_ happened, he gets yet another flash of Harry telling him his name for the first time, causing a chill to run up and down Louis' spine before his phone vibrates indicating a new text message.

He pretends the flash didn't happen and gets his phone to read the text. _Dr. Tomlinson, good morning. I have some time off now, would it work for you?_ It says and Louis is quick to type a _yes, of course_. 

_There's a good coffee shop downtown I'm used to going to, and it's not so far from my house, neither from Radley. I'll meet you there in twenty._ Dr. Levine is quick to reply once again, sending him the address right away. Louis is relieved that he won't need to wait until after lunch or even a day so he can talk to the man. He doesn't think he would have the patience to. 

He drives his car out of his spot in the parking lot and into the road away from Radley, towards downtown Baltimore. 

Maybe he'll finally get some answers, then.

꧁꧂

Louis doesn't remember ever being to Kaldi's Social House, but as he steps into the place, he has some strange sense of deja vu — he's seen this dark wooden counter and that one wall matching the same counter, with cute yellow letters hung on it letting everyone know the coffee shop is _the favorite spot of the civilized world_. He's seen those light wooden tables and the beige and brown leather chairs. Louis has seen its white ceiling with small white lamps, just like he has seen the front red brick wall with the round sign outside. He has seen it all.

At least that's what the feeling of strange and _extreme_ deja vu tells him as he slowly makes his way to one of the light wooden tables by the dark wooden wall with the letters and sits on one of the beige leather chairs.

He gets his phone and places it on the table so he can take his coat off and put it on the arm of the chair, attentively looking around as to, somehow, see something that would strike him with a memory of the place.

Nothing happens, though, so he gets his phone back with a sigh and types a message to Doctor Levine letting him know where he is sitting.

A waiter named Daphne stands by his table with a kind smile and types it on a tablet when Louis tells her he would like to order a medium-sized cup of Yorkshire tea with no sugar and a chocolate chip muffin. It's only after she turns around to help some other customers that an average height black man walks up to Louis table with a polite smile.

"Louis Tomlinson?" He asks with a strong and firm voice, offering his hand in greeting.

"Doctor Levine, I'm guessing?" Louis stands up from the chair briefly to accept the hand and shake it before they both sit down across from each other.

Doctor Levine has short curly hair and very dark brown eyes; Louis would say the man is around forty-four or so years old, given that he looks really healthy and built, there are also barely any wrinkles by his eyes. However, Louis knows for a fact that the man with chocolate skin sitting in front of him is fifty-one years old — he did some research before filling in the man's previous position at Radley. The more than a few strands of white hair all over his brown-haired head and his well-shaved beard say he's not as young as he actually looks, too.

Louis watches Doctor Levine take his brown coat off and place it on the chair just like Louis has done it, waving for Daphne, the waitress who just gave Louis her attention a minute or two ago, to get his order.

"I'd like a large cup of coffee and a cheese danish, please," Doctor Levine says and Daphne gets it into the tablet and walks away with a polite _excuse me_. "So, Doctor Tomlinson, how are you this morning?"

"Please," Louis smiles politely as he waves a hand dismissively. "Call me Louis."

"Well, then you must call me Kevin," He gets as an answer as Doctor Levine — Kevin — straighten his black wool sweater with his hands. "You said you wanted to talk to me about some patients?"

"Oh! Yeah," Louis nods. "About one specific patient, actually."

"Let me guess," Kevin narrows his eyes, drumming three of his right hand's fingers against his chin. Louis looks at him, surprised. Is he going to say — "Daniel Martin."

Louis frowns, tilting his head to the side in slight confusion as he says: "Daniel Martin? He's not my patient."

"Oh, really?" Kevin raises his eyebrows. "That's quite strange, given that he was my patient. He's a difficult one. Who's treating him, do you know?"

"I'm afraid not," Louis says honestly. He's never even heard that name in that place before. "I wanted to talk to you about Harry Styles, actually."

"Harry Styles?"

"Yes," Louis gets his phone and unlocks it, not even noticing the tone of confusion in Doctor Levine's voice as he repeated the name. "I wanna show you his file. It's very strange how vague it actually is, I can't seem to —"

"Excuse me, sirs," Daphne comes back with their order on a tray, slowly placing their cups and plates with the baked goods on their table. "Enjoy it."

"Thank you," They both say at the same time, and before Kevin can even say anything else to what Louis was previously saying, Louis is quick to get back to where he stopped: "I can't seem to figure out what's wrong with his whole case, you know?"

Doctor Levine is patiently listening, but Louis also doesn't see the look of confusion on his face.

"See?" Louis shows him the picture of Harry's file on his phone. "That's the only page. There's nothing else. It doesn't even say where he and his family are from. He's clearly lost in his own mind and has some memory loss. He's also really depressed. I wonder why you'd never thought to give him any medicine."

"Harry Styles, you said?" Kevin repeats and Louis nods as he watches the man read the few things in the file. "Louis, I don't think I know who that is."

"What?" Louis blinks, taken aback. He puts his phone back on the table and looks at Doctor Levine, just now noticing the look on his face. The look of someone who has no idea what is going on.

"Harry Styles, I don't know who that is," Kevin clarifies. "He was never my patient, which is why I could have never given him any medicine. Is he a new patient over there?"

"What? No! He's been there for a year. You were his therapist before me," Louis states incredulously as Kevin takes a sip of his coffee before shaking his head.

"I honestly wasn't. I have no idea who Harry Styles is. And mind me, Louis, I recall every single one of my patient's names and their looks."

"How is that even possible? It doesn't make any sense."

"You would have to talk to Director Peterson about that. There must have been a mixing-up and they typed it wrong."

"No, it's not that," Louis is frowning as he confusingly looks at Kevin, watching him drink his coffee as if Louis isn't having a mental breakdown or something. "They didn't just type it wrong, Doctor Levine. They have _told_ me you were Harry's doctor."

"Well," Kevin blinks at him, surprised. "That's more than strange, then."

"I _know_."

"There's nothing I can really do, though, Louis. I wish there were, but you honestly will have to talk to Director Peterson about it."

Louis finally takes a sip of his tea and wonders how in the world he got himself into these never-ending questions. It's like he suddenly doesn't know anything about anything anymore.

How could he have gotten let it all this far? He should have questioned it all before. Harry's case has been vague ever since the beginning. Louis basically didn't have any information on him besides the fact that he killed his father — _did he really?_

Louis should have looked for information ever since his first week. He should have contacted Doctor Levine sooner, he could have prevented himself from diving too deep into all this mess.

"Doctor Levine — _Kevin_ —, I'm really sorry, but I have to get going," Louis announces after he finishes his tea in three long gulps. He places a five and ten dollar bill by the cup and stands up after wearing his coat back and putting his phone in its pocket. He takes his muffin before saying: "I'm so sorry if I have wasted your time, but you've been a great help. Thank you so much."

"You haven't wasted my time at all, Louis. Don't trouble yourself," Kevin tells him kindly as he looks up at him. "I'm sorry I couldn't be much help. However, if you need anything related to Radley, feel free to call or text me."

"Thank you, Kevin, really. Will do," He nods. "Now, I must get going. Thank you." 

Doctor Levine waves goodbye at him before going back to drinking his coffee with a confused frown on his face, and although Louis notices it, he hurries out of the coffee shop to his car, getting inside as fast as he can so he can get his phone out of his pocket once again, after turning the car engine on. 

He decides not to go back to Radley just so he could talk to Director Peterson, in case he would have to come back to downtown Baltimore or nearby. Instead, he chooses to find Peterson's number on his contacts and dial it right away.

"Mr. Peterson, hi," Louis says once his boss answers the phone with a calm voice. "Can you talk right now?"

"Louis, hello! How's your day off treating you?" Peterson asks him, not answering his question at all. He can be like that — doesn't have a single worry. Louis wishes he could be like that sometimes. 

"Nothing much given that it's still too early," Louis tells him and hears him amusedly chuckle in response. "Can I ask you something, Mr. Peterson? It's important."

"Sure! What is it?"

"Do you know who was the judge in Harry Styles' trial?" 

"Oh, that poor boy, although a murderer. How are his sessions with you going? Have you had any improvements?" Once again, Peterson ignores Louis' question.

George Peterson is a 57-year-old man whose favorite thing to do is talk. Louis likes him a lot, he's a very nice and kind man, but he can be very annoying when he wants to talk about everything at the same time. 

"Mr. Peterson, we can talk about that at the monthly meeting at the end of the month, I'm sure. Now, though, it would be very helpful if you answered my question, please," Louis replies as politely and nicely as he can be, pressing the bottom of the palm of his hand against his forehead, taking a deep breath.

"Oh, right! Of course. What was the question, again?"

"Harry Styles' trial. Do you know who was the judge?"

"Ah, yes. I do," He says. "Lucius Morgenster, he's from somewhere in Michigan. I've never met him, you know? But I've heard good things about the man."

"Lucius Morgenster?"

"Yes, yes. Very unique surname, isn't it? Why did you want to know?"

"I need to contact him. There's something off about Harry's case, Mr. Peterson."

"Well, of course, Louis. He killed his father," His boss says with a saddened tone of voice. Louis rolls his eyes as he takes yet another deep breath. "If you must contact him, I'll look for his phone number."

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson," Louis sighs. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Of course, of course. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, sir. Bye," Louis hangs up before his boss has the opportunity to start talking about anything else.

Louis opens the Safari app and types the judge's name onto the search. He frowns at the screen when it shows nothing but a bunch of bottles of a wine named Morgenster and tons of articles in a language Louis doesn't understand.

"What the fuck?" He murmurs to himself. "Is this — what fucking language is this?" 

He types _Lucius Morgenster Baltimore_ onto the search so maybe there will be something else other than those weird articles and wine, but it's all the same. He types _Lucius Morgenster Judge Michigan_ , but the only different thing that comes up is where you can find good attorneys there. _I'm not fucking looking for an attorney,_ he thinks to himself with a scowl on his face as he angrily types _Lucius Morgenster Judge to Harry Styles case in Baltimore._

Once again, Louis frowns at the screen because a bunch of the same thing shows up on it.

The fact that everything related to Harry Styles seems to be a strange mystery makes Louis feel extremely uneasy. As he stares blankly at his phone screen which shows nothing helpful on Lucius Morgenster, he can't help but feel like a failure. 

If Harry is the murderer he is supposed to be, then why can't Louis find anything to prove it? Why can't he find anything that shows the seemingly monster everybody says Harry Styles is? Why can't Louis figure this all out so he can help his patient who brings the strangest feelings to Louis' core? 

Louis is being kept in the dark and he's tired of it. How come he was told Harry's doctor is someone who has never treated him before? How come even Perrie thinks Doctor Levine was Harry's doctor? What are they all hiding?

If he can't figure this out on his own, then he must go straight to the source. He will make Harry talk and tell him the _truth_. Louis is there to help him, but he can't do it if he doesn't know what the fuck is going on. 

His phone vibrates with a new text and Louis is relieved that his boss didn't forget to send him the judge's number as soon as they hung up their phones. He doesn't wait another second to dial said number and is extremely frustrated when a robot voice tells him it no longer exists. _Of course_ , it's what he thinks.

After taking a deep breath, he drives his car out of the parking spot and decides to make his way to his best friend's house. After all, it's still his day off and he deserves at least a few hours without letting this whole situation drive him insane. Also, it's been a while since he last saw Niall.

Tomorrow, though, he _will_ figure out why everything related to Harry is so damn shady.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter explains a lot! It's one of my favorites so far!

**_H A R R Y_ **

**_Days feel harder_ **

**_Night grows longer_ **

It’s two nights after Harry’s failed attempt to try to talk to Louis’ in his dorm room, given that his brother Zagan happened to be there to crush Harry’s hopes. 

The night before, Harry was feeling a bit way too hopeless to do anything other than stay in bed and wonder how things would be if he were someone else entirely; if he were someone whose father and brother weren’t out there plotting to make his life an eternal misery. 

Tonight he’s feeling a little better, and although he knows there is a chance Zayn might be there one more time to stop him — his dorm room is also there after all —, Harry doesn’t give up. 

He’s in no position of giving up. It’s Louis, and Harry would never give up on him. Ever.

Therefore, he is once again making his way through the patio with his hands tucked inside his sweatshirt pockets after compelling the night shift guard to let him out. 

This is it, he thinks as he takes a deep breath while taking a quick look around to make sure no one is watching — he is positive that at night nobody ever is watching. As he’s said before, this place is a joke. 

He will finally let Louis know bits of their life together for the past year and hopefully some of what Harry says will spark some memories into Louis’ mind. 

Harry knows he can’t just spill everything out like a bucket of ice water over Louis’ head — it wouldn’t be helpful at all. Louis would be too confused at Harry’s first few words to even pay attention to the rest, so he has to carefully choose what he wants to say.

While moping in his bed the night before, he took his miserable time to also think of what he is supposed to tell Louis first, and he concluded that the first piece to be shared is the fact that they had met long before their first therapy session. 

He knows Louis will probably want to call security on him, but he will be as careful and patient as he can so Louis see that he isn’t there to hurt him at all, but quite the opposite.

Harry is about to use the night shift guard’s ID to open the purple building entrance door when there is a sudden feeling of his body being pulled away from reality. The feeling goes away as quickly as it came, though, and then Harry isn’t in Radley anymore.

He blinks quickly so his eyes can adjust to the bright sunlight and the cleanest blue sky above his head. 

He is definitely not at Radley but in a very wide field of tall wheat. His breathing quickens in desperation once he sees nothing but miles of plantation all around him, the only different and standout thing being a small house made of white painted wood; its chimney is working, thick smoke coming out of it, even though it doesn’t seem like the time to light up a fireplace. It’s so hot out that it feels like the sun is about to swallow Harry up, which is why he takes his sweatshirt off and wraps it tightly around his hips so he's only wearing a T-shirt, then.

Harry decides he will never figure out what the fuck is going on if he just stands there and stares at the house, so he starts walking towards it slowly. 

He really wants to believe this is just yet another one of those bad dreams, or that Zayn is playing mind tricks on him, but he knows this is not the case. He knows this is as real as his extreme feelings for Louis.

 _Louis_ , he sadly thinks, I need to get to him. 

Harry should have known this would happen eventually because apparently being punished in a nuthouse isn’t enough. 

After what it feels like to be an hour or even more, he finally stands right by the house door, which is also white and contemplates for a moment: what if he tried to get out? Even though this is all very real, it’s only because his father has some kind of access to his mind that allows him to pull this shit. So what if Harry fought him and escaped back to Radley? Maybe he can convince Louis to run away with him.

Before he can even come up with a plan, the door is forcibly opened with a loud woosh, showing the very clean inside of the house. Its light wood floor is so well waxed Harry can see his reflection as he slowly steps inside. It’s a weird contrast from how the house looks outside — old and dirty. Besides the very clean floor, the clear white walls have some abstract paintings hung side by side in some kind of guiding path to the fireplace; in front of it, there is a single big gray armchair, placed right on a black fur rug. 

Harry’s breath gets stuck in his throat when the only thing he can see for a moment is a pair of shiny black shoes. He knows who’s sitting in that chair. 

“Come,” His father’s dark and sharp voice calls for him, and he can’t do anything but what he’s told to. 

Once Harry is finally standing in front of the armchair with his back facing the fireplace and his eyes meeting his father’s after a very long time, he can feel his body shake in fear. 

The thing is, he isn’t actually afraid of his father — he doesn’t ever worry about what his father will do to him. However, he is afraid of what he might do once he finds out what Harry has been hiding from him for over a year now. Harry is afraid of what he might do to Louis.

“Look at you,” His father speaks, his grayish-green eyes looking at him as if he’s not worth any minute of his precious time. “Don’t you have anything to tell me?”

"I don't, actually, Father," Harry dares to say. He decides he would rather say what he is thinking than having his father figuring his secret out.

"I was expecting an apology," Harry takes a step back when his father stands up from the armchair and straightens his dark blue suit with his hands. He's wearing a golden yellow tie, which is extremely ridiculous, but Harry fears what he might try to do whit that — maybe he will try to choke Harry, even knowing he can't be killed like that, just for the fun of it. "But I should have known you would misbehave. You have always been like that, haven't you?"

"An apology? You've locked me up in a nuthouse," Harry crosses his arms over his chest protectively, feeling his heart beat faster and faster under his father's glare. "You've made people believe I murdered you."

"That was funny, wasn't it?" A mean smirk appears on the corner of his father's mouth, and Harry wants to scream how much he hates him. "You can't expect me to not punish you after not delivering me what I'd asked, boy."

"Maybe I needed more time!"

"More time?" His father scoffs as he slowly walks around Harry, his authority demeanor causing Harry to swallow dry. "Do you take me for a fool, _Haures_?" 

"No."

"Sit down," He points to the big armchair and Harry takes a deep breath before doing as he is told. His father looks down at him with sharp eyes, probably trying to read into Harry's reaction to every little thing he does and says. "Do you know why I sent you to Earth?"

"Yes," Harry nods, holding himself back from rolling his eyes. "The Nephilim mission."

"Yes, yes, I did send you to find me the Nephilim," His father starts pacing back and forth slowly, lightly scratching his chin with his right hand's fingers. "Do you know why I chose you?"

"No, Father."

"It was a gift. I wanted your first experience on Earth to be memorable. Epic," He carefully and quietly listens to every word coming out of his father's mouth, breathing in and out heavily. "See, this mission is one of a kind; a mission in which _more time_ would only screw everything up. Have you not learned anything at all?"

"As I said, Father, I — "

He gets a sharp and furious look in return and closes his mouth shut so he doesn't say anything else until he is allowed to. 

"I must look like a joke to the Archangels, all because of your stupidity. Did you think I would just let you live your pretend human life?" He stops right in front of him, and Harry doesn't avert his eyes from his father's, not once.

"If the Archangels know what you're looking for, that's why I couldn't find it. Father, you know we can't sense Nephilim if the Archangels have them under their protection."

"If you hadn't wasted your time on your worthless human friends, then you would have had time enough to look for what I need," His father's voice is loud now, shaky with anger. "It seems to me you have forgotten how important this Archangel blood Nephilim is to what I have planned."

"You speak as if you have told me why you need the Nephilim, Father. You gave me a task, but you haven't told me your reasons behind it."

"Ah! That's right," Suddenly his father doesn't look as angry anymore, and maybe that's why so many people throughout history have been scared of him — he's as moody as a child can be and can do whatever he feels like to get rid of those who stand in his way. Harry stares at him smile amusedly, nodding his head in agreement. "I haven't told you everything, have I? Silly me. It still gives you no reason to betray me, does it?"

"Father, I haven't betrayed you. I needed more time," Harry lies as best as he can, but he knows his father doesn't buy a word he says.

" _Boy_. Allowing yourself to forget about the initial task to go on and live a fairytale sounds a lot like a betrayal to me," His father gives um a pointed look, his brows raised in mockery. "Let's forget about the fact that you've betrayed your own flesh and bones so I can explain something to you. Get up." 

Harry sighs deeply and stands up so his father can sit back down with his legs stretched out, one ankle on top of the other. 

"What are you waiting for? Sit down," His father orders him, pointing to a spot on the rug right by his crossed ankles. Harry can't help but roll his eyes this time, doing as he's told with an annoyance that might take over his entire body in a moment or so if he doesn't take a few deep breaths. "See, Haures, I didn't know I needed the Archangel blood Nephilim until the day before I asked you to go on a mission. You must have had seen a few different faces back home for a while, huh?"

"Yeah," Harry answers after narrowing his eyes in thoughts, trying to remember what his father is talking about, and he does. He remembers some very different and human faces back home for a very long while throughout an entire year two years ago. "I remember."

"Those were Nephilim. Well, the thing is, you couldn't have had seen them more than once because I killed all of them," His father says it naturally, and Harry's breathing quickens yet once again. He doesn't want to listen to the rest of the story because he knows where this is going. "They were no use to me after all, so I had to get rid of them. You know this is how I deal with what's useless to me, don't you? You're lucky you're...huh, what's that word humans like to use so much? Ah! _Family_ . You're lucky you're family. A nuthouse, friends who don't remember who you are and a little time trick? That was me being _nice_ . And _smart_ , mind me."

"Can you please get to the point?"

"Ah, yes, yes. You still don't know the entire story," His father nods. "Right. So, I killed all of them because they were no use to me whatsoever. It turns out I can't use any ordinary Nephilim to open Hell's gates."

"You want to open Hell's gates?" Harry repeats, widening his eyes.

"Well, yes. Once and for all. It's always been my one true goal to leash Hell on Earth, Haures. You know that. Why do you look so surprised?" His father waves a dismissive hand at him. "I'm tired of having to perform a ritual myself every time I need one of ours to possess a human body. I want them to come and go whenever and wherever they please. Also, it would piss the Archangels and their big Boss off so much. Sometimes I think they forget I was once like them and that now I am _better_."

Harry's wide eyes are blinking in surprise. He doesn't really know what to say — what does this mean for Louis?

"Anyway, because the Archangels are such stupid and petty creatures, they somehow locked Hell's gates with Archangel blood Nephilim. Therefore, all I need is the Nephilim I sent you after so I can perform this ridiculous ritual with their blood," His father's grayish-green eyes stare at him with a wicked glow. "It's just very hard to find one of them. As it turns out, there's only one out there, and you were supposed to find them. We were able to at least know they are in that ridiculous town you seem to love so much, but now, because of your selfish pretend human life adventures, I must go up there and look for them myself. Do you not think I have other things to do, _boy_?"

Suddenly, everything seems way too real and bigger. Harry knew his father needed Louis because he is a Nephilim and that it would probably end up with him being killed, but actually _knowing_ it feels, somehow, like he is the one who might die. He can't have anything ever happen to Louis. Ever. He just _can't_.

Harry hadn't been able to see who Louis really is until something out of ordinary happened, which means Louis used some of his powers unwillingly. The fact that Harry didn't know until then means Archangels are protecting Louis close by, which also means that they know who Harry is. _Why did they let me get close, then?_ It's one of the many questions clouding his mind, but he shelves it far away so he can try to think of ways to find out who the Archangels around Louis are so they can take him as far away as possible from his father because Harry knows he will do everything to get what he wants. 

"In the meantime, you're going to stay at the nuthouse without complaints. I might pass by to see how your new life is over there. Hah! A murderer, that's funny, isn't it? Are people scared you might kill them?" His father keeps talking with an amused tone of voice, chuckling in between words. Harry is blankly staring at him, although he is ready to explode in anger. "How do you like your brother being one of your therapists?" He laughs. "See how nice I am? You have your brother there with you! How _dare_ you complain to me about it. You're spoiled."

"Is that all, Father?" Harry asks, trying to maintain his voice as controlled and easy as it can be. His father glares at him, probably annoyed that Harry's interrupted all his fun.

"Fine, fine," He rolls his eyes. "Don't do anything to provoke me, do you hear me? You've done enough."

"I won't, Father."

"Ugh, you've always been the boring one among your siblings. Now, get out of my sight," His father shoos him with a wave of his hands and Harry stands up to walk out of the house.

As soon as he steps outside, he isn't met with the wheat field and the warm weather, but he is suddenly back at Radley, right in front of the purple building entrance door.

"Fuck," He whispers and finally allows himself to cry quietly after walking two steps to the side so he can have his back against the building wall. "Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck."

He doesn't even know if the right thing to do is to have Louis remember everything at all. This is all so much bigger than both of them, and if Louis has been under the Archangels' protection all along, then Harry might only screw this all up if he tells Louis whatever he decided to tell. _Fuck, what am I supposed to do?_

Wiping the tears away with the back of his hands, he wears his sweatshirt back and starts walking away from the purple building and, once again, away from Louis. 

He will have yet another night to mope and think about what is the right thing to do now that he knows what he knows.


	12. Chapter 12

**L O U I S**

**_ It's getting dark and it's all too quiet _ **

**_ And I can't trust anything now _ **

A day after he meets with Doctor Levine, Louis can't just confront Harry in front of everybody out of the blue and therefore has to wait until their next session tomorrow. So, he keeps an attentive eye on the man from time to time throughout the day when he isn't working — more than he should if he's being honest to himself. It's an easy workday, after all, not many sessions and the paperwork can wait.

When it's lunchtime, Louis watches Harry sit by himself with a shadow of sadness darkening his face, causing Louis' chest to tighten a little at the sight for unknown reasons to him; when Harry is at the library and Louis also happens to have some time to spare there, he watches the man sit by one of the large bookshelves on his own, lost in thoughts. 

Louis knows he is acting insane, but he can't help it. He needs to figure out what is it about Harry that nobody seems to know nor see.

That day, after Louis' fourth and last patient at 4 p.m, he steps into the dark green building so that he can keep on his mission to find out what Harry Styles has been hiding from everyone. This time, he makes his way to where Harry's cell is supposed to be but is surprised to find the man isn't there. 

"Dr. Tomlinson," One of the guards, Mr. Parnell, approaches him with a greeting smile.

"Mr. Parnell, hello," Louis smiles back at him as he places his hands inside his white coat's pockets. "Do you happen to know where Harry Styles is?"

"It's visiting hours, Dr. Tomlinson," Mr. Parnell says and Louis frowns, tilting his head to the side. "Someone came to see him. He's there in the visiting room on the third floor."

"Thank you, Mr. Parnell," Louis says and doesn't wait for the man to say anything else as he rushes to the elevator.

Liam Payne has finally come to visit, then. It has to be him, given that he is the only one allowed to visit Harry, which is still something very weird when Louis thinks about it — why would they allow the person who sold Harry out to be the only one to visit him? It doesn't make any sense.

When Louis is finally in the visiting room, he spots Harry sitting next to a short-brown-haired man by one of the very large blind windows. Louis counts four guards, one on each corner of the room and two others by the entrance door. Also, six patients are talking to one visitor each — they don't allow more than eight patients at a time to be there to receive relatives or friends. 

Because Louis, as one of the psychiatrists, is allowed to observe his patients wherever and whenever, the guards don't question his appearance in the visiting room as he quietly makes his way through the place. Once he is close enough to Harry and Liam Payne, at a spot in which he's facing their backs, he gets his notepad and pen from his white coat's pocket so he can pretend he's taking notes and doesn't look like a total creep.

"What do you mean?" He hears Harry voice the question tightly. Louis can tell by the way he is stiffly sitting how tense he is.

"I have literally been looking for you guys for two months," Liam Payne tells him, and Louis wishes he could see their faces. "If it wasn't for your brother paying me a very unpleasant visit last night, I wouldn't have found you. What's going on, man?

"Zagan? How the fuck did he know how to find you?"

"Zagan? Is that his  _ real  _ name?" Louis can sense a hint of amusement when Liam Payne asks the question. He frowns deeply, wondering how he didn't know Harry has a brother. How could this be not in his file? "He said his name was Zayn when he appeared to me. He's creepy as fuck."

Louis widens his eyes then, his heart beating so fast it could explode.  _ Zayn?  _ The same Zayn who works and has lunch with him from time to time? No, it can't be. It's just a coincidence.

"That's how he tells people to call him here, too," Harry confirms Louis' questioning and it causes his breath to get stuck in his throat for an instant. He tries his best not to choke, though. What the hell is going on? Harry and Zayn are  _ brothers _ ? "It doesn't make any sense, though. If you couldn't find me before, how could it have happened just because Zayn came to you?"

"No, no," Louis sees Liam shake his head, his heart still hammering like crazy inside his chest. "It was what he said. Something about you paying your debts to your Father by being locked away with people who were also in debt with him. You know,  _ bad _ people."

"That's confusing," Harry states and Louis agrees.  _ What are they even talking about? _

"Dude, there aren't many prisons and nuthouses in Baltimore."

How is it even possible that Liam Payne apparently didn't know where Harry was? It says in his file that he is the one allowed to visit him, so that should have meant  _ Liam  _ knew he was allowed to visit. Why is he implying he had to go to other prisons and asylums in Baltimore until he found Harry? 

"But wait, how come you remember who I am?" Harry asks in a confused tone of voice, and that causes Louis to be even more confused. Why would Liam not remember who he was? "Father wiped away the memory of everyone I care about here. How do you remember anything at all?"

Louis is holding his notepad so tightly that his knuckles turn white.  _ What?! _

"Oh, man," Louis hears Liam chuckle between his words. "I forgot you all can't sense my being, huh? Wow, not one of you can sense me. How powerful does that make me? Though Zayn probably knows about me, given he came unannounced to talk about you. He knew I remembered."

"What the fuck, Liam?" 

"I'm a Messenger, Harry. I'm meant to keep eyes on things here so I can go back Home and give them the update and all. I can't go back unless I actually have updates, and since you went MIA for two months, I haven't been back Home since then."

"What the actual hell?" Harry voices his frustration, and Louis can relate to that feeling. He is blinking fast, frowning so deep he is afraid his face will be stuck being like that. "How come you never told me?"

"Well, I was going to, but then this all happened," Liam shrugs. "Is  _ he  _ here?"

Harry is quiet for a moment, and it gives an extreme sense of anxiety to Louis. Who is  _ he _ ? The person Harry keeps talking about in their session?

"Yes," He answers after a beat too long of silence between them both. 

"I fucking knew it," Liam says. "Your Father  _ is  _ an asshole, after all. Well, we shouldn't be surprised by that, anyway, given who he is and all. I'm sorry, Harry. I'll look for a way to get you out of here."

"I can't leave him here, Liam."

"We won't. I have also been sent on a mission, you know? I promise I'll find a way to get you both out of here safely."

Louis still has no idea what they are talking about.  _ Get out of here?  _ He repeats in his mind,  _ Harry can't just get out of here! Oh my God, are they planning an escape? _

"Why, though?" Harry asks, and his voice is tired. Sad. "I'm no good. This is all my fault."

"Ah, man. You have no idea," Liam actually  _ laughs _ . "I have to get going, alright? But I promise I will come back and we will find a way out of this creepy place."

Louis blinks quickly as he closes his notepad and places it back, along with the pen, into his pocket so he can rush out of the room before Harry can see him.

What kind of conversation was  _ that _ ? Harry has been hiding and lying about so many things that Louis can't help but feel some kind of betrayal, which makes no sense — they aren't anything but doctor and patient. Why does Louis feel like this? Why does he feel the need to grab Harry by the arm and pull him somewhere Louis can make him spill every little secret he's been keeping away. Why is he here, really? There's no judge to have sent Harry here. There's no previous doctor to have treated him; there's no record of him killing his father whatsoever. There's  _ nothing  _ about him. Nothing at all.

With his heart beating as fast as he is breathing, he makes his way to his dorm room with a decision made: he  _ will  _ confront Harry about everything tomorrow when they have their session. He  _ will  _ demand every little explanation as to why Louis can't seem to find anything on him.

Harry will be the one to talk for the whole hour this time, Louis can't have anything but that. He can't stand being in the dark anymore.


	13. Chapter 13

** H A R R Y **

**_ I want so much to open your eyes _ **

**_ 'Cause I need you to look into mine _ **

Harry has his trembling hands tucked between his thighs while he's sitting on the patients' black armchair in Louis' office, staring at the ground because he can't bear to look at Louis without knowing what he is supposed to say.

He's too afraid of what might happen to him if he is to find out everything. Harry is too afraid that sharing everything might be worse than leaving things the way they are. So what if Harry has to be locked away into this nuthouse for the rest of his life? He will get over it as long as Louis is safe and alive.

Before Harry's father decided to send him to Radley and make Louis forget everything, Harry had shared what he knew to Louis. Louis knew who Harry really was and the reason why he had been sent to Earth. Harry had told him they had to be careful because he couldn't have his father finding out Harry found who he has been looking for all this time. Before all of this terrible situation in which Harry is the only one who knows what they mean to each other, Louis knew and nothing happened for a while. Louis knew, and Harry could still protect him. 

It feels so much different now, though. If Harry were to tell Louis the real deal, he wouldn't be able to tell only parts of it as he thought would be the right thing to do. He feels like he has to go big or go home — he either tells Louis every single detail or tells him nothing at all. He is pretty sure the Archangels can do a better job looking out for him than Harry ever could, it's what they have been doing all along anyway, isn't it? 

Not telling Louis anything feels like the right thing to do, yes. However, it also feels like a sword ripping his heart right out of his chest because it means Louis won't ever remember anything. It means that Louis will move on with his life without ever knowing Harry isn't a murderer, but someone who has shared so many special moments with him. How can something feel so right and so wrong at the same time? 

"Do you miss your family, Harry?" Louis' soft but rather determined voice asks him, causing Harry to look at him with curious eyes after leaving those miserable thoughts behind for a moment.

"I don't."

"Not even your brother?" Louis tilts his head to the side, watching Harry like a hawk. He doesn't have his notepad nor his pen today, he just sits there on his chair. Harry can tell he is tense — he has his hands gripping the arms of the chair once again. 

"My brother?" Harry repeats as his heart beats a bit faster. 

"Yes. Your brother. Zayn, right? The same Zayn who works here with me and is your group session therapist?"

How does Louis know that? There is no way he could ever know that. Even before all of this he hadn't known. There is  _ no way _ . Is Harry dreaming? It must be a dream. He pinches the inside of his left thigh as hard as he can, but nothing happens. He feels it and he doesn't wake up. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry lies because other than that, he doesn't know what he is supposed to do. 

"Can you  _ please _ just —" Louis stands up all of a sudden, startling Harry, pacing back and forth for a moment in silence. "Just tell me the truth, okay?" He stops to look at Harry with tired eyes. "I've been going  _ insane _ with this because I know you're hiding something. I've told you I can't help you if you don't tell me what is going on."

"Dr. Tomlinson, I don't know what to say, I haven't —"

"No!  _ No _ ," Louis points a finger at him, and he sounds so upset. Harry can also see it on his face; he has an angry but sad frown, and it hurts Harry to lie. "I heard you, okay? You were talking to Liam Payne yesterday and I heard you.  _ God _ , I basically watched you all day long because I can't seem to figure out what is it you're not telling me. What's  _ wrong _ with me? I don't know what it is with you that makes me so —" He runs his hands over his face as he takes a deep shaky breath before staring at Harry with hardened eyes. "Is Zayn Malik your brother?"

Harry knows Louis won't rest if he keeps his mouth shut or tries to lie once again. Harry knows that once Louis sets his mind on something, he doesn't give up. So, with a deep and defeated sigh, he says: "Yes."

Louis blinks at him, fisting his hands by the side of his thighs. He is shaking, Harry can see. He wishes he could just walk to him and wrap his arms around him.

"I met with Doctor Levine," Harry watches him as he crosses his arms over his chest protectively. "He said he's never treated you before."

"He didn't," Harry agrees, never looking away from Louis. 

"You haven't been here for a year, have you?" Louis questions after a beat too long of deep silence, his bright upset blue eyes staring at Harry. 

"No."

"How long have you been here?"

"Two months."

"How is that even possible?" Louis starts pacing back and forth again. "Why does it say in your file that you've been here for a year? Did you even kill your father at all?"

"I've told you I didn't," Harry says carefully as his heart hurts to see how distressed Louis is. 

"Why are you here, then?" Louis demands after he stops to look at Harry again. His eyes are fierce, ordering a straight answer. Harry knows he deserves the truth, he knows that, but he can't help but stop himself from spilling it all out. He's still too afraid; still too worried. Still too in love to risk anything ever happening to Louis.

"To be punished," It's what he decides to answer — the truth, but not all out there.

"Can you just —  _ fuck! _ " Louis explodes, placing himself right in front of Harry as he grabs the arms of the chair Harry is sitting on. He is looking at Louis with wide eyes, his heart beating so fast he's afraid it will jump out of his chest. "Stop being so vague with your answers for one second and give me the whole truth! What are you hiding? Why do I feel like —  _ God _ . Why do I feel like you  _ know  _ me? Why do I feel like  _ this _ ?"

Louis is close enough that Harry can actually feel his breath on his face, and it's been too long since they have been this close to each other. Harry misses him terribly and it hurts his entire being. Louis' eyes are dark as he stares into Harry's wide green ones, demanding answers.  _ Pleading _ for them. Harry can see the confusion in them, and it pains him to see him this way — he is probably wondering why he feels this way towards Harry, so caught up in everything. He is probably wondering why Harry looks at him like he hung up the moon and the stars. 

" _ Louis _ ," Harry finally says his name out loud for the second time ever since his first day at this miserable place, and it feels good to do it.  _ Freeing _ . 

Louis blinks at him before taking a step back with a deep breath, probably being startled out of his frustration for not getting any answer by Harry saying his name. He looks at Harry with deep wondering eyes as he takes his right hand's thumb to his mouth to bite on its nail anxiously for a second. 

"I'm sorry," He whispers shakily as he runs his hands through his hair, messing it. Harry can't stop looking at him, his heart feels like it's swelling up as it beats faster than a race car. "I'm sorry.  _ Jesus Christ _ , what's wrong with me? I shouldn't have talked to you that way. I'm sorry, I just —  _ oh my God _ ."

"I'm not who you think I am," Harry vomits the words, not really allowing himself to have the time to stop them. Louis blinks at him surprised, sitting back down on his chair. Harry chuckles nervously and humorlessly as he runs his hands over his face. "Well, you know that by now. It's just that you've actually known me for a while."

Harry will tell him what he needs to tell him, they can figure the rest out.  _ Together _ . That's what he decides as he watches Louis look at him with those blue eyes that could have Harry do anything they ever ask of him. There's a tiny voice at the back of his mind telling him he shouldn't say anything, but he shuts it up. He decides he would rather have Louis know what got them here than leave him suffering like that because he is making himself crazy by looking for answers he won't find on his own. 

"For a little over a year, actually," Harry continues and rubs his sweaty hands on his sweatpants. "I know it sounds insane, but only because you don't remember it."

"What —" Louis shakes his head with a frown, the confusion is probably eating him up. "What are you  _ talking _ about?"

"We met at Cat's Eye pub. You ordered a Black and Tan for me, that was the first time I ever drank it," Harry slowly tells him, trying his best not to cry his heart out and beg for Louis to remember all of their moments together. "That was my first day on Earth."

"You —" Louis' eyes are watery and reddish, Harry can see them and wishes he could actually murder his father for putting Louis through this. " _ What? _ "

"You were drinking an Irish beer.  _ Good ol' Harp _ , you told me," Harry keeps telling him. "You also told me you were celebrating the fact that you'd got this very job position, right here. You were there with your best friend, Niall Horan."

"How could you know that?" Louis voices breathily, his wide eyes fixed on Harry's face. "That... it was a  _ dream _ ."

"No, it wasn't. It was a memory."

"No, how could it  _ possibly  _ have been a memory if you weren't even there?" Louis is shaking his head, still looking at Harry though. "This is insane!"

"Someone wiped your memory away, that's why you can't remember it."

"What are you even talking about?  _ No _ ." 

"Louis,  _ listen  _ to me," Harry pleads and stands up, doing the same as Louis did a few minutes ago, placing his hands on both arms of the chair and positioning his face close enough to Louis' that they can feel each other's breaths. "There's a reason why you were able to break this chair right here with your bare hands, and a reason why you had that...  _ dream _ . There's a reason why you feel like I know you, and it's only because I  _ do _ ."

" _ No _ ," Louis whispers when a lonely tear roll down his right eye. 

"You're the one who's taught me how to not hate snow, you know?" Harry softly confesses. 

Before Louis can say anything, Perrie is knocking on the door to let them know it's time for Harry to go — has it been an hour already? Fuck, Harry isn't done sharing all the little things. 

"You need to go," Louis tells him with a shaky voice, but Harry doesn't step away. 

"Please open the door for me tonight and don't try to do anything until then. Don't go after Zayn."

" _ What? _ "

"You need to know  _ more _ . Please, just...when you hear me knocking, just let me in."

"How do you even know where my room is?" Louis blinks at him, breathing in and out quickly. He's afraid once again, Harry can sense it. He can see it. It pains him once more.

"Please, just let me in. I promise I will answer everything you have to ask me," Harry tells him before stepping away to make his way to the door. Before opening it, he turns to Louis with pleading eyes to say: " _ Please _ ."

Harry opens the door and meets with a very smiley Perrie, leaving a scared and astonished Louis behind. 


	14. Chapter 14

**L O U I S**

**_ As if you didn't know _ **

**_ You ignored all the darkest of warnings _ **

Louis has never wanted to be home like he does right now as he paces in his dorm room at Radley House. He has never wanted to hug his mom and sisters so badly — why does he have this feeling telling him he might never do so ever again? It waters his eyes with burning tears. 

It’s a little past midnight and there’s not an ounce of him that is tired or sleepy. How could he even think of sleeping, anyway? His and Harry’s earlier session still drowns every other thought trying to come to the surface; he can’t think of anything but Harry’s words.  _ He knows me? _ A tiny voice keeps asking in his mind over and over while everything Harry said floats around the question. How is it even possible? It’s not,  _ right?  _

_ Open the door when you hear me knocking _ , Harry said, and that’s crazy, _ right? _ He can’t just come up to Louis’ room, there’s no way. How would he even get out of his cell? No, this is  _ insane _ . Why is Louis even wondering if it is actually possible? 

Harry is crazed. He’s locked up for a reason and Louis can’t allow this man to make him feel this way.  _ He knows me? _ The tiny voice now shouts, sounding as desperate as Louis is. 

Louis is thinking about his small hands gripping the arms of his chair and breaking them that one day when there’s a soft knock on his door, causing his heart to skip a beat as he stops his pacing to look at the door with wide eyes.

_ No _ , this is impossible. There is no way Harry could have gotten out of his cell and made his way through the courtyard without anyone noticing him. There is no way he could have unlocked his cell at all without a guard.

_ No, no, no. _

He should call security, that would be the wise and safe decision, but it appears that his body and heart might be taking control over him because before reason can stop it, his hand is twisting the key in the door handle and unlocking the damn door, slowly opening it so he can find a Harry with sad and pleading eyes. 

Louis’ heart has never beaten so fast. He’s afraid he might suffer a heart attack for a moment until Harry walks past him into the room. He blinks, astonished as he closes the door and turns around to look at the man by his bed with his hands tucked inside the pockets of his green sweatshirt. 

“How are you here?” Louis manages to voice his confusion — he doesn’t even know how he can speak right now. His throat hurts and his eyes are so watery it blurs his vision for a moment. He wipes those damn tears away before Harry can fully understand how terribly he is messing with him right now. 

“I’m so afraid of what might happen to you if I tell you everything,” Harry’s words don’t make any sense to Louis, and it’s not really the answer he wants to hear. Harry seems to understand that by looking at Louis’ frowning and red face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Tell me what?!” Louis explodes once again, but still sane enough to keep his voice down so nobody will come to his room to ask what the hell is going on. He wonders what they would do if they saw Harry here.

_ Probably what you should be doing _ , reason whispers to him and he takes a deep shaky breath. 

“When I told you I am here to be punished, I wasn’t lying,” Harry starts carefully, taking a step forward. Louis takes a step back, though, and the look on Harry’s face weirdly feels like someone squeezing Louis’ heart. “When I told you I didn’t kill my father, I wasn’t lying either.”

Louis keeps looking at him and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he can say anything else, actually. He waits until Harry is done saying whatever it is he’s been hiding — how is Louis supposed to know if he is telling the truth? 

_ He’s a criminal! _ Reason shouts at him.  _ How can you let a murderer into your room?! He won’t say anything but lies! Call security! _

“I was supposed to find something...no. I was supposed to find  _ someone _ for my father, and I failed. Well, I've found the person, but I didn’t tell him,” Harry continues. “He doesn’t know I’ve found this person, though, but when I didn’t deliver them on the deadline, he was angry.”

There it is, that word again.  _ Deadline _ , what is it with this word causing Louis to shudder? There’s that image of himself surrounded by wheat plantation as he stands in front of a white wooden house again. What  _ is _ that? 

It’s not like he has never heard that word before, but coming from Harry sounds different.  _ Why does it feel like I’m dying?  _

“You knew about it. The deadline,” Harry says and Louis swallows dry, blinking quickly as he stares at Harry, breathing in and out so fast it hurts for a moment. “I told you once that I came to Earth for a mission. To find  _ you _ .”

“What?" Louis whispers after he takes another two steps back until he’s against a wall to support him. He feels like he’s about to faint. 

“A little over a year ago I came to Earth to find someone for my father, and that person is you. I had to find you. Whatever ritual he made brought me to Baltimore, but that was it. Nobody there knew it was you. Not me. Not even him. I guess I could say  _ you  _ found me, actually,” Harry is saying all these words with his big eyes looking at Louis like he is begging him to believe. He’s looking at Louis longingly, sadly. He’s looking at Louis with so much pain it makes the latter look away for a brief moment, just to breathe. “I didn’t know it was you, Louis. We couldn’t have known, you have others protecting you. Close by. Watching over you, and that makes it impossible for us to feel you.”

“I don’t understand,” Louis finally speaks, taking a deep breath and looking back at that green-eyed man. “Harry, nothing you’re saying makes any sense!”

“Do you know your father?” Harry asks out of nowhere. Louis blinks, taken aback.

“What? Harry, what does that have to do with anything?!” He demands frustratingly. 

“He left before you were even born.” 

Louis stops breathing for a second or three right then.

“How do you know that?” He shakingly asks as he steps away from the wall and walks to Harry, stopping when his bare toes are almost touching Harry’s tennis shoes. He has to tilt his head back a little so he can stare right into Harry’s eyes when they’re this close. 

_ You shouldn’t be this close!  _ Reason is yelling at him, but he pays no mind to it.

“He had to,” Harry doesn’t answer his question. “He couldn’t stay. They can never stay.”

“What are you  _ talking _ about?”

“Don’t you wonder how you were able to break that chair?” Harry tilts his head to the side, blinking down at Louis. His eyes are so green and bright. 

“That was —”

“Supernatural strength,” Harry interrupts him. “That’s how I knew it was you who I was supposed to find, back then.” 

Louis widens his eyes before he burst out laughing, placing a hand over his mouth to silence his stupid giggles. There’s a small but sad smile on Harry’s lips, and Louis wonders  _ why _ for a moment. 

“Supernatural strength?” Louis repeats. “Oh, my God. What am I doing? You need to  _ leave _ .” 

“What do you think it was?” 

“I don’t know! Adrenaline, maybe!” Louis takes a step back and shakes his head. “Why am I even talking to you about this? Leave!” 

“As far as I remember, we weren’t really going crazy with our conversation that day. Adrenaline, really? Were you high on coke or something, then?”

Harry is mocking him, Louis can tell. 

“What even is —“

“You get that strength from your father,” Harry interrupts him once again. Louis shuts his mouth and blinks up at him. “He had to leave because he wasn’t allowed to stay. He wasn’t allowed to even have any relationship with your mother. They aren’t allowed to. Some of them do it anyway.”

“Who are you talking about?!” There it is, the explosion again. “Stop talking in riddles and tell me what the hell you want to tell me!”

“I want to  _ show  _ you,” Harry takes that step forward again and this time Louis doesn’t back away. “I’ll show you, and then I’ll say everything.”

“Show me what?” 

Harry looks around the room for a moment, not saying anything. Louis knows he should probably run away or even start screaming for help, but the way Harry seems to be calm — even with that sadness behind his green eyes — and the way he seems to believe every single thing he is telling Louis, be it confusing as hell or not, make Louis stand there, watching him with attentive eyes. 

Somehow, Louis knows Harry would never do anything to hurt him. For some reason, Louis is  _ sure _ of that. That certainty scares him. 

“You used your strength that day,” Harry looks back at him. “That was nothing compared to what you can actually do. Strength is just one of the things that make you who you are.”

“Haven’t I just told you to stop talking in riddles?” Louis fists his hands in anger by his sides, his jaw so tense it hurts a little. 

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Harry shakes his head slowly, his eyes searching into Louis’. When Harry raises his right arm with the palm of his hand turned upwards, he says: “Put that pen in my hand. The one on the nightstand.”

Louis frowns at him to say: “You want me to go get that pen to put it on your hand? For what?!”

“No. I want you to put it in my hand. That’s it. You don’t need to walk over there to get it.”

Louis blinks in disbelief —  _ what am I doing? _ Harry isn’t well. He’s mentally ill. He is making everything up. Liam Payne is probably ill as well, and that’s why they were saying those things that made no sense at all.

_ What about Dr. Levine?  _ The tiny voice asks him,  _ why would he lie? Why wouldn’t you find anything about Harry online? There must be a reason.  _

“How the hell am I supposed to do  _ that _ ?" He asks, his voice shaky.

“With your mind,” Harry shrugs as if it’s that simple. No big deal. Louis is gawking at him. “You’ve done it before.”

“No, I haven’t!” 

“Yes, you have,” Harry blinks at him. “Louis, I know this sounds completely insane, but you have to trust me. I know it’s also kinda impossible for you now, but  _ please _ . We are running out of time.”

“Running out of time for what?”

“Do this and I’ll tell you everything. For you to believe me, you’ve gotta see this for yourself first,” Harry pleads, those damn green eyes as deep as the woods. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to move something with my mind? There’s no such thing!”

“Close your eyes,” Harry suggests, and Louis is a little hesitant at first, but the green-eyed man nods at him with an encouraging smile, and so he does as he’s told. “Take a deep breath and let your mind take control.”

Louis doesn’t know why he is listening to Harry —  _ because you’re the one who’s crazy! _ Reason shouts —, but the man’s voice and his certainty that what he is saying is true make Louis suddenly feel at ease. He’s never felt like this before — what is this feeling that makes him go against the actual impossible? Because this  _ is  _ impossible. He wonders where Harry got this idea and why he sounds so sure of it.  _ He knows me?  _

That can’t be right. Louis would definitely remember because there’s no such thing as wiping memories away. People can’t do that to each other —  _ he knows me? _ It can’t be. There is no way that dream was real and there’s no way Harry knows what he is talking about right now, telling Louis to let his mind control things.  _ There’s no such thing.  _

_ Why does he look at you like he knows every little bit of you? Why does he say your name like he knows your dark side?  _ That tiny voice makes him wonder and it makes him want to cry. How the hell did he get himself into this very situation? 

“It won’t work if you keep questioning everything,” Harry’s voice makes him open his eyes again to find the man looking at him with soft and tired eyes. Sad, so sad. Louis wants to place his hands on those reddish cheeks and make him feel alright. He’s feeling too much all at once. This isn’t right. 

“It won’t work because there’s no such thing as mind control.”

“Louis,” There it is, his name out of those lips. Why does it make him feel like that? Funny. Weird.  _ Known _ . His eyes water because he can’t comprehend why he wants Harry to keep saying his name over and over. “If you want things to make sense, you have to try it.”

“Why does it feel like I know you? How can we have known each other for longer than two months?” 

“It will make sense if you believe you can do this, first,” Harry persists and Louis takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” He nods and closes his eyes. “Okay.”

Louis doesn’t know what it means to let his mind take control, but he figures it has something to do with not focusing his thoughts onto specific things, such as why he needs to let his mind take control, in the first place. Or why he has this feeling that Harry might not be lying when saying they have known each other longer than Louis thinks they have. 

Therefore, he allows his mind to breathe on its own and go wherever it wants to go, and that apparently means that one image in which Louis is standing in front of a white wooden house, surrounded by wheat plantation. Louis doesn’t try to figure out what it means, instead he lets it roll. He feels the heat of the burning bright sun above his head in the clear blue sky, which is something rather different and weirdly comfortable compared to the cold weather they have been experiencing for a month or two now.

The door to the white wooden house is closed, but Louis can feel someone is there. He  _ knows _ someone is there. He tries to walk towards it, but he’s stuck. There’s a light breeze for a moment, and that’s what makes Louis open his eyes again and stare at Harry, who is still patiently waiting for something to happen.

Louis turns his gaze to the pen on the nightstand and glares at it for two minutes. Nothing happens. He waits a minute more. Two. Three. Nothing happens. He takes a deep breath and fists his hands, closing his eyes for a short moment and thinks of nothing. He lets his mind surround him with that light breeze and that closed door. He lets his mind demand it to open so he can look inside. 

Then, there it is. In a blink of an eye, so fast, the pen is on Harry’s hand, like it transported there somehow. Louis didn’t even see it float. 

_ What the hell?  _

Louis is staring at Harry’s hand as it wraps around the pen, holding it tight. He averts his eyes to Harry’s face to find him smiling and, for once while they’re there in the room, Louis sees something rather than sadness and desperation in Harry’s eyes. For once, since the first time Louis saw Harry stepping into his office, he sees hope there. And maybe that’s what it makes a sudden explosion of feelings in his chest happen — it’s like a million sparks running through his veins. Maybe it’s the hope and the smile that cause Louis’ skin burn with what it feels like an amount of power that could make him burst into flames. 

Maybe it’s the hope, the smile, the tears reddening Harry’s eyes, the burning on his skin; maybe it's the explosion of million sparks in his veins and chest, and the fact that he’s just made a pen float to Harry’s hand with his own mind that makes Louis pass out.


	15. Chapter 15

**_ L O U I S _ **

**_ Oh, Lord, what do I do? _ **

**_ I've fallen for someone who's nothing like you _ **

Louis steps into Harry's apartment to be greeted by a song playing so loud he could hear it in the hallway outside the place. He smiles when he smells something delicious coming from the kitchen at the same time he recognizes the song Harry is listening to. 

It has been a few days since Louis first introduced  _ Untouched _ by The Veronicas to Harry and the man hasn't stopped listening to it since then. It makes Louis laugh amusedly to think Harry likes it so much, he remembers listening to it non-stop when the song came out years ago. 

After leaving his briefcase on the couch in the living room, Louis makes his way to the kitchen. He can hear Harry singing every single word to the song, not making one mistake and it makes Louis laugh a little bit louder — it's a very difficult song to sing to due to how many words in the verses.

When he finally gets to the kitchen, he's surprised to see the small dining table set up with two high candles and rose petals on it. There's also a bottle of wine placed by one of the candles and two of his finest glasses of wine side by side — Louis sees that Harry set the table so they will sit next to each other. He's so surprised by what he sees that it takes him a minute to notice Harry pacing in front of the oven. Even though he's singing loudly, he looks distressed, which surprises Louis even more.

What surprises Louis the most, though, is the way Harry is dressed. Well, dressed up, really. There's a fine pearl silk shirt covering his broad shoulders and torso, its long sleeves rolled up to his biceps, and black skinny jeans hugging his strong legs the sexiest way possible. There's also a new pair of black boots on his feet, its small heels making him look even taller. His hair, which is now reaching his neck, is fairly curly with some locks behind his ears. 

He's stunning.

"Am I forgetting a special date or something?" He makes himself known, his voice loud enough so Harry can hear him over the song. 

Harry stops pacing and singing right away, turning his body so he can look at Louis. He smiles sweetly and stalks to Louis so he can wrap his arms around Louis' waist, squeezing him against his body. Louis chuckles as he wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders, placing a soft kiss against his neck. 

"You're not forgetting anything," Harry says after he takes a small step back, leaving his hands on Louis' waist. "Doesn't mean it's not a special day." 

Before Louis can say something in response, he can hear the song starting all over again and he can't help but burst out laughing.  _ How long has he been listening to this on repeat? _

"What are you laughing at?" Harry asks, an amused smile on his lips as he watches Louis laugh.

"You  _ really _ liked this song, huh?" Louis stares up at him, trying to control his laughter. 

"Oh, fuck, tell me about it," Harry groans dramatically, which causes Louis to laugh even more. "How is it possible for a song to make me feel like jumping all over the place?"

"It's a very good song," Louis nods, his words shaky due to the laughter that won't stop coming. 

"I don't even wanna listen to anything else," Louis knows Harry is actually being serious, he's pretty sure the man hasn't listened to any other song ever since he first listened to this one. "Why do  _ you _ listen to anything else?"

Sometimes Louis wonders if Harry is just  _ that _ playful — to this day, seven months later after their meeting, he still wonders. Most of the time he doesn't even look like he is supposed to be funny. The things he says, the questions he makes...they all sound so genuine. Is he really just being playful most of the day? From time to time Louis fondly tells Harry to just stop and be serious for a moment, but Harry just gives him a puzzled look and will wait until he gets a response for whatever it is he's just said. 

Now, as he looks at Harry with a grin and amused bright eyes, he just knows that he actually wants to know why Louis doesn't listen to anything else but that song. Which is adorable, but at the same time so confusing.  _ Does he really not know? Why would I ever listen to only one song? _

"There are way too many songs for me to be listening to this one, only," Louis snorts in laughter as he slides his hands over Harry's neck to his cheek, placing them there. "You know that."

"I haven't listened to many songs," Harry tells him as if it's nothing. Louis wides his eyes. "What?"

"What do you mean?  _ Lately _ ?"

Harry shrugs after he wraps his hands around Louis' wrists softly and says: "I mean  _ ever _ ."

"What the hell?" Louis gasps. "How is it even possible? Does your family follow that one religion that won't allow their people to listen to anything but Gospel music?"

"Oh, believe me," Harry chuckles. "We are  _ not _ religious."

"How can you not have listened to many songs  _ ever _ ?"

"Well, I listen to the ones you show me. But this one is my favorite. I really don't wanna listen to any other song. You don't even need to show me any other," Harry tells him calmly, and the fact that he is completely serious about what he is saying shocks Louis more than he has even been shocked. And Harry has shocked him  _ many _ times.

"Harry, you can't just listen to one song for the rest of your life," Louis states with a gawking chuckle. "Are you even from this world?"

Harry narrows his eyes at him, giving his wrists a gentle squeeze. 

"Let's eat," He says, and that means this completely weird conversation is over. 

"You've never cooked for me before," Louis points out as he sits on one of the chairs and Harry walks to a part of the cabinets to get two plates and utensils. 

"I've never cooked, period," Harry confesses with a light chuckle. "But I've aced this thing."

"Yeah?" Louis smiles amusedly as he watches Harry open the oven to get a glass drying tray out of it. He widens his eyes when he sees Harry is going for it without oven mitts. "Harry!"

Apparently, he is too late, because Harry is placing the thing on the counter right as he looks up at Louis with startled eyes.

"What?"

"Are you nuts?! Wear the damn oven mitts!" Louis shouts from his seat, he's so shocked he can't even stand up. Why isn't Harry wincing in pain as Louis would? Well, he would probably cry in pain. But still.

"Oh," Harry looks at his hands. "Ouch!"

Louis widens his eyes with a frown this time.  _ What the hell? _

"Did you  _ just  _ feel the burn?"

"Um. Yes. Oh, yes," Harry shakes his hands with a pained expression. "It wasn't even that bad, though, I was pretty fast."

"You're so damn weird," Louis chuckles in disbelief. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Harry grins at him and Louis is probably still gaping.  _ What the hell?  _ "So, I hope you like risotto."

"I do," Louis says as Harry gets their plates ready with the food. It smells so good. 

"Funny how if you use the ordinary rice to make risotto it won't taste the same," Harry comments conversationally while making his way to the table with the plates. "There are so many kinds of rice. What even is up with that?"

Louis can't stop staring at Harry as if he's out of this planet, even when the man sits next to him after placing their plates on the table and looking up at him with a big smile. 

"Have you ever been to Italy?" Harry asks him while he gets the bottle of wine and pours some of it into their glasses. 

"No," Louis answers. "I'd like to, someday."

" _ Possiamo andarci insieme e mangiare tutto il risotto che vogliamo _ ."

Now Louis is definitely gawking at Harry. He was about to take a sip of the wine, but now he has his hand holding the glass hanging midway, starstruck. 

"Did you just speak Italian?" Louis asks just because. He knows Harry's just spoken Italian. He just didn't know it would be the most natural thing coming out of his boyfriend, just as he didn't know it would sound so damn erotic.

"I guess I did," Harry laughs after taking a sip out of his glass and humming, pleased. 

"You  _ guess _ ?" Louis echoes. Harry is so  _ absurd  _ sometimes. "What are you waiting for? Translate it!"

"Oh, right," Harry places the glass back on the table and stares at his plate for a moment. He looks like he is in deep thought — does he really not know what he's just said?  _ What the living hell!  _ "We can go there together and eat as much risotto as we want. That's it."

"I can't believe you speak Italian," Louis shakes his head in disbelief. He can't help but smile one of those big smiles he has saved for Harry, only. 

"I can actually speak many languages," Harry admits with a shrug, once again having Louis wide his eyes in surpris _ e. "Quiero besarte hasta el amanecer. _ "

"Oh, oh!" Louis nods after taking a big sip of the wine. "That's Spanish  _ for sure _ ."

"It is," Harry grins. "Do you know what it means?" Louis shakes his head and then Harry is leaning in, placing a soft and wine-wet kiss to his lips. "It means I wanna do this until dawn."

Louis' skin suddenly burns like fire, the Spanish and Italian words out of Harry's pretty lips mixed with them kissing his own do things to his body that he had never felt before meeting Harry.

" _ Wir sollten essen, bevor es kalt wird, _ " Harry speaks yet another language, and that one Louis doesn't know what it is. German, maybe? It sounds like it.  _ God, why does he have to sound so sinful?  _ Louis wonders as he stares into Harry's green eyes up this close, their lips are still touching. 

"German?" Louis asks in a whisper and Harry nods. "What does it mean?"

"We should eat before it gets cold," Harry is grinning like a cheeky cat, and then Louis is chuckling. He pecks Harry's lips before the man leans away and gets himself settled on his chair to start eating. 

"How do you even know how to speak all these languages?" Louis wonders out loud as Harry takes his first bite. Louis does the same and hums in appreciation. "This is amazing, holy fuck."

Harry beams at him and answers after he's done chewing: "We learn how to speak many different languages in my family. It has been happening for a long time. Um," He clears his throat, suddenly appearing uncomfortable in his own skin. Louis frowns. "My Father wants us to know it all."

"Know it all?" Louis chuckles. "That's impossible."

Louis sees Harry go pale for a moment, frowning even deeper. 

"I mean, as many as we can."

"Right," He narrows his eyes. Because Harry seems to be extremely uncomfortable talking about this, Louis changes subjects. "So, what's the reason for this lovely date?"

"I've learned something," Harry starts after resting his fork on the plate so he can speak. Louis keeps his eyes on him, nodding as to silently tell him to keep going. "With all those movies you like to watch so much. The ones that make you cry."

"The romantic ones?" Louis asks with an amused and fond smile.

"Yeah, those," Harry beams at him, although Louis can see what he would describe as worry behind Harry's eyes, even if he's hiding it very well. "When a character wants to show their partner their feelings, they do something special. They take them somewhere, or they buy them gifts. Many of them make a romantic dinner with candles and roses, and because you've been so busy and tired this week, I chose that last option.  _ Oh _ , and because you said we should make a musical marathon. So, I guess tonight is a good night to start."

"You're trying to movie-romance me, then?" Louis bites his bottom lip as to try to keep from smiling too wide. Harry blinks at him before chuckling softly.

"I guess I am," Harry nods as he takes his hand to Louis' cheek to caress it gently. "I wish I knew why you always cry watching those scenes when one of the characters does something special to the other."

Louis places his hand over Harry's as he shrugs, still smiling. "I just get emotional," He responds. "I've always wanted that for myself."

"But they always go through so much before they end up together," Harry argues with a soft frown, tilting his head to the side.

"I know," Louis laughs quietly. "I mean I've always wanted the aftermath."

They stare into each other's eyes for a long beat of silence before Harry leans in to place the softest of all kisses to Louis' lip and says: "I wanna give you that. The aftermath."

"You already do," Louis tells him and kisses him again, briefly. "Every day."

"I do?"

"Yeah," Louis nods, the glow in Harry's eyes this close causing his heart to feel home. "You give me the beforemaths, middle-maths, and aftermaths. All of it."

Harry grins, then. His smile is always contagious enough to make Louis smile with him, no matter what, where or when. 

"You do, too," Harry says. "Even though I don't deserve it."

Louis frowns at that last statement, but Harry doesn't allow him to say anything regarding that because he's then pressing his lips against Louis' once again, this time deepening the kiss and causing all the shivers and butterflies to take over Louis' whole body.

꧁꧂

"What's the title, again?" Harry asks once Louis presses play so the movie starts. They're sitting on the couch, Louis tucked beside Harry, whose arm evolves Louis' shoulders as his fingers softly caress his skin. 

"High School Musical," Louis tells him. "The first one."

"How many are there?" Harry turns to look at him. Even after months, when they are this close, Louis still feels like his heart could explode any second. Harry's eyes do that to him.

"Three."

"Three?" Harry repeats with a surprised tone which causes Louis to smile amusedly. "They must  _ really  _ like to sing."

Louis chuckles lightly and cuddles closer to him if that's even possible. Harry squeezes his shoulder before going back to caressing his skin, sending all those good shivers through Louis' body. 

They silently watch the movie — Louis basically knows the lines by heart, by now, due to how many times he's watched it alone and with his sisters — until, of course, Harry starts questioning and commenting on every single scene, just like he does every time they are watching something. Louis doesn't mind, he laughs every single time until his tummy hurts and his eyes are tearful. Harry doesn't understand why it makes Louis laugh so hard, and Louis doesn't understand how  _ Harry _ can't understand it. 

"Didn't he just say he can't sing?" Harry asks as soon as Troy Bolton starts singing. Louis snorts in quiet laughter.

"He's not the one singing, you know?" Louis informs him and he can actually feel Harry's eyes on him. He doesn't turn to look at him, though, he doesn't want Harry to know he is  _ already _ dying to laugh.

"What do you mean he isn't the one singing? He's right there singing, moving his mouth as the words are coming out of it," Harry scoffs. 

"They recorded someone else singing the song and added it to the movie. He's just mouthing the lyrics," Louis explains, controlling himself not to burst in laughter. 

"What a fake," Harry sounds so upset Louis can't help but snort in laughter again, still trying his best not to explode. He loves how Harry feels everything in a completely different way from everybody Louis has ever known. "They're so awkward, holy fuck. People are enjoying that? That's the lamest party ever."

"It's a good song," Louis pinches Harry's thigh, but he doesn't even flinch. 

"Why are the lyrics on that TV?"

"It's karaoke."

"What's that?" 

Finally, Louis turns his head to look at Harry, only to find his eyes already on him, expecting an answer. Louis is so surprised by the question he takes a whole minute to actually answer. 

"It's when you get only the instrumental part of a song and sing over it. There are places you can go to just do that," Louis lets him know and Harry nods. "Did you really not know that?"

"Really," Harry shrugs and goes back to watching the movie.

Louis doesn't even know how that's possible, but he lets it go and does just that. It's much of the same, then. They watch it in silence until Harry breaks it to ask something completely random about a scene or comment something no one would ever. Louis has never met someone as unique and genuine as Harry.

"That's a difficult game to play," Harry says when Troy, Chad, and their teammates are practicing basketball while singing  _ Get'cha Head In The Game _ . "Is that really how it's supposed to go?"

"Harry," Louis looks at him again with amused eyes. " _ No. _ "

"Then how do they expect to be good? What are they doing jumping around like that?"

"They're dancing and practicing," Louis chuckles. "They don't like that Troy wants to sing, too."

"They're no good friends," Harry huffs, and then he's paying attention to what's happening in the movie again. Louis shakes his head amusedly and rests his head on Harry's chest, sighing softly.

"How can people like Troy's and Gabriella's performance more than they like Sharpay's and Ryan's?" Harry asks when the main couple is singing  _ Breaking Free _ on the stage. Louis looks up at him to find a frown on his face. "Look at them, they're so boring! They can't even hold the microphone right. It's like they don't even need it because it doesn't even look like they are singing the song!"

And that's what cracks Louis — he bursts in laughter and can't stop. He laughs so hard he places his hands on his hurting belly and shuts his watery eyes closed. He doesn't think someone has ever made him laugh so much as Harry does to him. 

Still laughing, he opens his eyes to see Harry staring at him fondly, a small but amused smile on the corner of his mouth. Louis calms down a little, then, allowing himself to stare at his boyfriend just as fondly and sweetly. His heart feels like it is swelling, right then. Getting bigger and bigger every time Harry looks at him like that. 

"I've learned another thing with all those movies you like so much, like this High School Musical one," Harry says with his fond eyes still on Louis, nodding towards the TV where Troy and Gabriela finish their song. 

"What is it?" Louis asks, a small smile on his lips.

However, Harry has this serious look on his face. Even though his eyes have this fondness and softness as he looks at Louis, he is frowning worriedly. Louis saw this look on his face earlier when he caught the man in the kitchen singing his new favorite song. Now, there it is again. 

If Louis thinks about it, it isn't even the first time this happened. Harry has had that look before, more times than Louis can count on his hands. Even though they have so much fun together, Harry seems to be on the edge many times, and it comes out of nowhere. He's smiling and beaming, and then it's like a dark thought crosses his mind and that worried frown takes over his face. 

Before Harry can answer Louis, he gets the remote and turns the TV off.  _ Well, he doesn't even want to see the end of the movie?  _ Louis asks in his mind as he swallows dry, his eyes never leaving Harry's face.  _ It must be serious, then.  _

"I've learned that keeping things from the person who makes your heart feel like this —" Harry wraps Louis' wrist with his soft fingers to place Louis' hand on the left side of his chest, where Louis can feel Harry's heart beating strong and  _ fast _ . "— is never good. Something always goes wrong. I don't wanna keep anything from you anymore."

It's Louis' turn to frown, then. Harry is kind of scaring him.  _ Is he breaking up with me?  _ His insecurity fears, causing his hand on Harry's chest to grasp the shirt he is wearing.  _ No, that's not it, he wouldn't.  _ Reason tries to calm him down before he starts crying and begging for Harry not to leave him. 

"Lou, I haven't been entirely honest with you," Harry says, his voice almost in a whisper. Louis can't let the shirt go from his tight grasp, just as he can't look away from Harry's deep green eyes. "I hate that I haven't, because you deserve better than have me keeping all these things from you."

"You're scaring me," Louis voices his worry, taking a deep shaky breath. "What is it?"

"It's about me," Harry says. "And my family. And where I come from."

"What?" Louis blinks. "You're from Savannah and your family still lives there."

"That's what I've told you," Harry still has his hand wrapped around Louis' wrist, so he squeezes it lightly as if to reassure Louis he is still there and isn't going anywhere. "It doesn't mean it's the truth."

"You — Harry, you  _ lied _ ?" Louis takes his hand away, then, and stands up from the couch so he can stand right in front of Harry, who is looking up at him with sad and anxious eyes. The fondness is still there, though, it never leaves. 

"I did, yeah" Harry nods slowly as he runs his hands on his jeans, over and over. "And I'm really sorry that I did. But you have to understand I only did it to protect you."

"Protect me?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds like another lie, but I swear it isn't. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you, but these past few weeks got me thinking that keeping it all from you might put you in even more danger."

"What are you talking about?" Louis frowns deeper with each word out of Harry's mouth. "I'm not in danger. Harry, what is this, really?"

Harry stands up and places his big hands on Louis' jaw. He rests his forehead against Louis' to say: "Just, please, keep your mind open, okay?"

"Harry," Louis takes a step away, out of Harry's touch, scowling. "Out with it."

"I'm from Hell," Harry says it so fast it would be difficult to understand if Louis wasn't so aware of him right now. 

"What?" Louis blinks. "You're from Michigan?"

"What? No!" Harry shakes his head. "I said I'm from Hell."

"And that's in Michigan," Louis crosses his arms over his chest. "Why wouldn't you tell me you're from Michigan?"

"Louis, I'm not from Michigan."

They stare at each other in silence for long few seconds until Louis snorts in disbelief. 

"Why would you lie about that?"

"I'm not from Michigan!"

"Harry!"

"I'm not!" Harry runs his hands through his hair, messing it. "Lou. I'm from  _ Hell.  _ Hell __ as in _ Hell. _ "

"You're saying you're from Hell, the actual Hell."

"Yes."

"What is wrong with you?" Louis is frowning again. "What kind of joke is this? I thought you were being serious!"

"Louis," Harry says his name with a deep sigh. "Please, just  _ listen _ to me. You're not  _ listening _ ."

"Yes, I am!"

"Lou, I'm from Hell. That's where I come from. Down there," He points to the ground. "I'm not  _ someone _ ," He seems to struggle to say that bit, and the hurt in his eyes is what makes Louis  _ truly _ listen to what he is saying. "I'm  _ something _ . Although you've been turning me into  _ someone _ all this time, I'm still  _ something _ ."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm not human."

"Are you kidding me?" Louis slaps him on the arm, but Harry doesn't flinch. He doesn't move. It's like he doesn't even feel it. Louis blinks at him. "Harry."

"Louis.  _ Listen _ . I'm not human. I'm  _ something _ ," Harry repeats, his voice shaky and hoarse. "There's a reason why I didn't feel pain when you slapped me just now. Or why I didn't feel pain when I burned my hand getting our dinner out of the oven."

"What — Harry," Louis' eyes are now wide, and he doesn't even know what to think because he can't understand. "I don't get it."

"I can't feel physical pain because I'm from Hell," Harry tells him. "I'm not human because I'm  _ something _ ," His eyes are watery, and the hurt is still there. "I'm  _ something _ because I'm a demon."

"You're a demon," Louis repeats and Harry nods. There's this anger running through his veins, then, because how dare Harry make Louis worry this much just to play him like that? "This isn't a funny joke. It could've been if you would've started it differently. I was worried you were going to say you were leaving or something!"

"Louis," Harry sighs again. "It's not a joke. Please, I don't wanna have to prove it to you. Please, believe me."

"Harry, I knew you were playful but this is too much, alright? It's not funny."

"No, it isn't funny because it's not supposed to be a joke. It isn't," Harry persists. "I'm afraid you'll never look at me the same way if I have to prove it to you."

"Stop."

"Okay," Harry nods as he looks around the room, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. "Right."

Louis watches as he walks to the entertainment stand and gets one of the three books piled on top of each other right next to a small decorative white vase. Once Harry is in front of Louis again, he is holding the book up with one hand, his dark green forest eyes catching Louis' confused and worried ones. 

"What are you doing?" Louis asks once it's two seconds later and Harry still hasn't done or said anything but stands there with the book.

Instead of answering, Harry does something completely different. Instead of answering, Harry shows him. That means the book suddenly burst into bright flames, so hot it makes Louis stumble two steps back with wide eyes. Harry has the palm of his open hand upwards, and that's where the fire is burning, and where the book no longer is. It burned away. 

" _ What? _ " Louis gasps, his wide eyes blinking too many times at once. The fire is gone as soon as he speaks up, though, and the hurt in Harry's eyes is still there, painful. 

"I can do that because I'm from Hell."

"What kind of —" Louis is shaking his head as he runs his hands over his face before he stares at Harry again. "What  _ trick _ was that? How did you do that?"

"Lou, that wasn't a trick. How could that have possibly been a trick?"

"I don't know!" Louis waves his hands in exasperation. "You tell me!"

"It wasn't a trick. Lou, please, don't make me," Harry pleads, but Louis doesn't know what for. He doesn't know anything, it seems.

"Don't make you what?" Louis demands, frowning. "I really don't know what the fuck is going on, Harry. How did you do that?"

"Don't make me show you!" Harry explodes, and that gets Louis' breath stuck for a moment. Louis has never seen him like that. Angry. Desperate.

"Show me what, Harry?!"

"My —" He takes a shaky deep breath. "My real face."

"Your real face?" Louis repeats incredulously. "You know what? If you're not done with this stupid prank and trick or whatever it is you're trying to accomplish, I am. So, when you are, you can call me so we can talk like normal people."

Louis walks past Harry towards his briefcase he placed by the door before they started watching the movie. 

"Louis," The painful tone of voice Harry uses to call for him is what stops him from reaching down to get the briefcase. "Look at me."

What Louis sees when he turns around to do as he's told causes him to let a loud gasp and then sob, as his eyes suddenly burn with heavy tears that are only there because Louis knows nothing about what is in front of him isn't real. He wants to believe it's all a joke. A stupid prank. He wants to believe that, on Harry's face, is only a very good Halloween make-up. How could it be, though? There was no time for him to put it on. Louis turned his back for not even two seconds. 

Harry set a book on fire out of nothing to burn it away, and now he is looking at Louis with sad eyes, but that's not what cuts through Louis' heart like a sharp sword. What does it, is the face carrying those eyes. It's still the Harry who walked into the pub all those months ago to change Louis' life forever, but only half of him. 

The left side of Harry's face is something straight out of a horror movie. It reminds Louis of pain he's never felt before; it reminds him of darkness he's never known to exist. 

It's like half of the skin on Harry's face was ripped off, burnt away as he did with the book. Louis can't say that what's left there are muscles, because that's not it. Even though it looks like muscles, they aren't right; they're dark. It's like darkness is wrapped all around Harry's skeleton. His left eye no longer is green, and maybe that's what scares Louis the most. It's like he doesn't even care about his ripped off skin once he meets that one eye — it's like Louis is looking right into darkness and void. It's completely black, not an ounce of white and green like the right one.

_ I can't feel physical pain because I'm from Hell. I'm not human because I'm something. I'm something because I'm a demon.  _

Harry's words are replaying in Louis' mind as he stares at what he would describe as  _ darkness _ .  _ That's darkness, right? _ Even though Louis can see it. It's right there in front of him. 

"This is me," Harry suddenly speaks and it scares the shit out of Louis, causing him to jump back. He can see how much his reaction hurts Harry because it shows in his right green eye. "I'm sorry," He whispers.

Louis tries to speak, he really does, but it's like his throat is being ripped away by sharp claws due to how much it burns with the unshed tears in his eyes. 

"This is me, but still  _ me _ ," Harry rasps out and it's painful to hear. Louis hurts all over. "Don't be afraid of me, please."

_ How could I not be?  _ It's what Louis wants to say, but he physically can't. It's like his voice no longer belongs to him. He feels like he doesn't know anything anymore.  _ How is this possible?  _ He wants to shout. What scares him the most, then, isn't how scary that part of Harry is. What scares him the most is how much he wants to walk to Harry and wrap his arms around his waist to tell him he could never be afraid of him, just so that pain in his green eye would be wiped away.

What scares him the most isn't the fact that Harry could set things on fire out of nothing and burn them away, but the fact that Harry keeping this away from him for so long hurts him more than the word demon being actually real scares him. How sick is that? Harry is right there in front of him showing who —  _ what  _ — he really is, and Louis is hurting over the fact that it was all kept a secret from him. What else is there for him to know? Can he even handle all of this? Can he handle this truth?

"I promise I would never hurt you, Lou," Harry takes a careful step towards Louis, who instinctively takes a step back. The hurt is there in Harry's eye again, deeper. More painful. "I promise. I would never do anything to hurt you. I know this is scary, but you needed to know the truth. You needed to know me.  _ All _ of me."

"I'm not afraid," Louis finally speaks, but his voice is barely a whisper. He wonders if Harry can hear him because he has a better hearing than everybody else. "I'm not afraid," He repeats, stronger.

"You're not?" Harry breathes and then the dark part of his face is gone, going back to the way Louis is so used to. Both dark green forest eyes, softly blushed cheeks, strong button nose, and dark pink plump lips. All there. Louis takes a deep breath at the sight.

"I'm just —" Louis closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again to look at Harry. His heart breaks piece by piece when he sees Harry's red-rimmed eyes and the painful, pleading look on his face. "Is this  _ really _ real?"

"I'm so sorry I didn't tell you before," Harry places his hands on his chest, over his heart. "It pains me that I lied for so long. I don't want to keep you in the dark anymore. I never did, but I was too afraid of what could happen to you...to us. I still am, but we can work this out. Together."

"Harry," Louis says his name shakily and he sees Harry swallowing dry with a nod. "It's a lot."

"I know."

"I don't know how I'm not afraid," He whispers. "How is this real?"

"Lou," Says Harry in a tortured voice. Louis can see the struggle and pain in his eyes. 

"Tell me everything," Louis demands and Harry takes another step forward, but Louis can't help but take another back, once again. He shakes his head and lifts a hand in a stop signal, seeing Harry nod slowly, heaving his shoulders down in defeat. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am," Harry mumbles, his gaze never leaving Louis' for a second. "Nothing nor nobody has ever known me like you do."

"Right," Louis nods slowly as he bites his bottom lip for a brief moment, pensive. "Then  _ what _ are you?"

He sees Harry wince at his question as if it might have cut through him, but he doesn't show how that reaction breaks his heart further. 

"A demon," Harry says the same thing he said a few minutes ago. "I'm a demon."

"Do you — um. Are you..." Louis runs his hands over his face for what it feels like to be the thousandth time and takes a deep breath before looking right into Harry's eyes. "Do you possess people? Are you possessing someone right now? I mean...is this  _ you _ ?"

"I'm not possessing anybody," Harry carefully lets him know. "Most demons need to possess a human body to be here on Earth. My siblings and I don't."

"I can't believe this is a real conversation," Louis blinks. "I don't even know if I fully comprehend what the fuck is going on."

"I can't possess people's body," Harry tells him, choosing to ignore Louis' crisis. "I mean, I can, but I don't need to. I have my own Earth form, and this is it. It's the same with my siblings, but the others...if they want a trip up here, they have to possess a human body."

"How is that even possible? How am I having this conversation with you right now?"

"How is it possible for my siblings and me to have a human form and for other demons it isn't? We're like...legit. I mean, all of us are. But they were made, created. We were born."

"I need to sit the fuck down," Louis murmurs and throws himself on the couch, resting back on it with his eyes up to the ceiling. 

"I know this is a lot," Harry says softly and the familiar way it sounds to Louis' ears makes him hurt all over again. 

"This is more than a lot," Louis looks back at him to find those dark green eyes on him, pleading and begging and  _ loving _ . "This is  _ too much _ ."

"I'm Lucifer's and Lilith's son. And so are my siblings. The others were created. Literally. From fire and ashes." Louis is gaping at him as the words come out of his mouth. "That's why I don't need to possess humans to be here."

"You're telling me that you're Satan's son?" Louis questions, taking a deep breath through this nose. "I've been...fuck. I've been dating the son of Satan and Lilith?  _ What the actual fuckery living hell? _ "

Before Louis can try to stand up and run for his life, Harry is kneeling right there in front of him, between his legs.

"You said you weren't afraid," Harry whispers as he places his hands on Louis' knees. "Please, don't be. I promised I would tell you everything, and I tend to keep that promise. But, please, don't be scared of me."

"I'm not," Louis says, his whole body tense. 

"My name is  _ Haures _ ," Harry gives him, his eyes as bright as the moonlight outside. "My demon name, I mean. But I'm Harry. For you, I'm Harry. And being Harry for you is who I am. I've told you once I don't wanna be anyone else now that I know who I am with you, and I meant it. I  _ mean _ it."

" _ Haures _ ?" Louis repeats, choosing to ignore the rest of what Harry's just said. He remembers those words; he remembers how they made his heart burst with so many emotions all at once. He remembers them too well. "Your  _ demon _ name is  _ Haures _ ."

"Yes."

"And you're the son of Lucifer and Lilith."

"I am."

"And you can make fire out of nothing," Louis' breathing is coming in and out quickly. He is so tense he can feel his shoulders and neck start to hurt. Harry nods at him in response, slowly. Carefully. His eyes have never been so darker and brighter at the same time — if that's even something possible. Though, what even is the meaning of possible, now? Harry is right there in front of him saying he is literally a demon from the actual Hell. Louis doesn't even know what to think anymore. "And you don't possess people's bodies."

"I don't."

"But you can?" Louis blinks at him, wrapping his arms around himself protectively.

"Yes."

"Have you ever possessed  _ my _ body?" The question comes out as a whisper, and it hurts to say it. His throat is burning from the unshed tears still blurring his vision, and it's only then that he realizes he hasn't cried yet.

"What? No," Harry instantly tells him with a shake of his head, frowning deeply. "Lou, no. I would never. I've never possessed anybody, let alone  _ you _ . I would never do that to you."

"How are you even here? Why?" Louis swallows dry, squeezing his hands on his biceps. "Why are you  _ here _ ?"

"My Father wants me on Earth," Harry takes a seat back on the couch with a deep sigh, but he never takes his eyes off of Louis. 

"Why?"

"He has his reasons," Harry shrugs, but Louis can see he is stiff, tense. Louis can tell there's more to that answer, but he doesn't push. He doesn't think he wants to know what it is that Harry has decided to hide this time. 

"And your...um...your mother? Lilith?" 

"I don't know where she is," With his eyes still on Louis, Harry runs his hands through his hair for the millionth time in distress. " _ We _ don't know where she is. She's been gone for a long time."

"How old are  _ you _ ?"

Harry blinks up at him, surprised by the question. He grimaces for a brief moment before saying, "Old."

" _ How _ old?" Louis insists and dares to take a step forward, towards Harry.  _ Haures _ . Demon. From  _ Hell _ .

"Louis, please," Harry pleads, his voice shaky. "This is...it doesn't matter. I'm  _ old _ . With everything you're hearing from me, you can tell I'm old,  _ old _ ."

"Right," Louis nods and drops his arms by his sides, running his hands against his pants. "Because you're a demon whose father and mother are Lucifer and Lilith."

"Yes," Harry's eyes soften, the distress and pain giving space back to the fondness. 

"How can I believe any of this? I'm not a religious person. I don't believe in Heaven and Hell. How am I supposed to — fuck."

"Louis," Harry stands up again and takes two quick steps so there isn't time for Louis to back away, placing his hands on Louis' shoulders and squeezing them gently, holding him right there. "You already believe it. I've shown you. How could I possibly be lying? Why would I lie to you about this? I'm sorry I've been keeping it from you all along, but it wasn't time for me to tell you yet. Now, you know enough."

"I know enough?" Louis repeats, looking up at those terribly beautiful eyes. "Enough for what?"

"That's something for later," Harry whispers, and it pains Louis how that's Harry. Just Harry. How can he be anything or anyone else than the person who's turned Louis' life upside down for the better? How can he be anything or anyone else besides the actual love of Louis' life? "I'll let you be for a while, okay? I know this is all too much, but with a little time for yourself, you'll come to terms with what I've told you. It will all make sense once you sit down to think about it."

"I don't need to —"

"You do," Harry —  _ Haures,  _ the  _ demon _ — interrupts him, pulling him by his shoulders so their fronts are touching. Chest to chest. "You do need time to think, and that's okay. But, please, remember that I'm Harry. For you, that's who I am and that's who I will always be. I don't wanna be anything or anyone else but who I am with you."

"Where are you going?" Louis asks breathlessly once Harry steps away to walk towards the door that leads to the hallway outside. 

"Away," Harry says with his hand on the doorknob, his dark and bright eyes staring deep right into Louis' distressed and overly emotional ones. "You need time."

"But this is your apartment," Louis argues, his voice shaking with the tears threatening to finally fall.

"It's yours, too," Harry shrugs and opens the door, still not looking away. "You think about everything, take your time."

"Will you come back?" There's a single tear that dares to slide down Louis' cheek, and then there's another one and another one. And another.

He sees Harry smile softly as he says, "I'll always come back to you, Lou."

Before Louis can come up with anything else to say, Harry is gone out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. 

Then there is Louis, all alone, with the damn tears finally freeing themselves from Louis' eyes. He is sobbing loudly with his hands against his chest. Maybe if he presses them there enough, his heart won't feel so tight inside it, like it's about to explode into so many pieces it could be a puzzle. 

He sits down on the couch and tries to take a deep breath, but that only leads to more and more sobs. 


	16. Chapter 16

**H A R R Y**

**_This love came back to me,_ **

**_this love left a permanent mark,_ **

**_this love is glowing in the dark._ **

Harry is kneeling on the floor, leaning back against his calves while Louis' head is resting on his thighs and Harry's hands are gently running through the man's soft hair. 

When Louis passed out a few minutes ago, Harry didn't quite know what to do — he was worried out of his mind for a moment until he made sure Louis was okay by feeling his pulse and checking his breathing. Now, as he waits for Louis to wake up with his eyes on that delicate face he loves so much, he wonders whether _his_ Louis will wake up. 

Harry can't help but place a soft kiss on Louis' forehead, swallowing down a lump that seems to have been there stuck in his throat ever since his first day at this miserable place. 

He sees Louis' eyes moving quickly behind his closed eyelids before they suddenly open after his body tenses up. Harry blinks quickly as he watches Louis take his surroundings until his eyes stop at Harry's face, taking a deep breath as they wander over it. 

"Louis?" Harry whispers, his hands still on Louis' hair. "Are you okay?"

It's silent again for a moment, the only sound filling the room being their heavy breathing. Louis doesn't look away, though, and Harry's heart races so fast he can feel it pounding against his chest. He tries to think of what he will do if by the end of the night Louis doesn't remember anything, but it's like he can't see or think of anything but the man on the floor with his head on his knees, looking up at him with the bluest of all blue eyes. He tries to come up with another plan right then, but he can't think of anything but the fact that he doesn't want to go on another day without Louis, even though Louis would be right there. 

He remembers thinking that maybe if Louis doesn't remember anything, it would be safer anyway, but somehow, at that moment, he can't remember why he would ever think like that. Louis is looking up at him, and Harry can't stand the thought of having to go on another day without him remembering _them_.

But then, just like a fresh breeze on a miserable hot summer day, Louis blinks up at him and Harry _sees_ what happens, Louis wouldn't even have to say anything — back in his eyes, there is the glow and the _knowledge_. The memories and the fondness. Love. Everything. Harry sees everything. Louis wouldn't have to say anything because Harry would still know. 

However, when Louis finally opens his mouth to speak and a weak whisper of his name coming out of it, full of knowledge and memories and love and _everything_ , Harry feels like he can finally breathe right again after so long of not doing so. 

" _Harry?_ " 

"Louis," Harry sobs. He doesn't even try to stop the tears welling up in his eyes. "Louis, do you remember? Lou, do you? _Please_."

Louis slowly sits up, raising his hands to his head and massaging his temples before turning his body so he can face Harry. He takes his hands to Harry's cheeks, then, and places them there to softly caress them with his thumbs. 

"Harry," He says it again, this time louder. "Oh my god, _Harry_."

Then Louis is on Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders and squeezing him against his warm body. Close, close, close. Harry wants to keep him there forever. He wraps his arms around Louis' waist and squeezes him back, sighing deeply in relief. He can breathe right again. He can _be_ again.

"Lou, you remember," Harry whispers with his mouth on Louis' shoulder. "You _remember_."

"What's going on?" Louis asks with his mouth against Harry's shoulder. His warm breath makes Harry's skin shudder with relief. "Where are we?"

Harry pulls away from Louis' embrace to look at him, worry consuming him once again as he says, "Radley House. It's where we've been at for the past couple of months, remember?"

Louis' blue eyes glance up at Harry, blinking slowly. Harry sees when the realization of their current reality hits Louis hard — his eyes widen in surprise and fear as it wells up with heavy tears. Harry places his hands on Louis' cheeks, softly stroking them with his thumbs in a circling motion. 

"For a moment, I thought that was all a terrible dream," Louis murmurs, leaning into Harry's touch. "How could I not remember you?"

The pain in his voice is like pouring salt in open wounds, it hurts Harry all over. He wants to kiss Louis' pain and worries away until his own are out the door as well. 

"One of my Father's tricks," Harry tells him, not daring to pull away. He doesn't want to ever stop touching Louis. Not ever again. "I thought you'd never remember who I am. I was so scared."

Louis leans forward to press his forehead against Harry's, causing the latter's heart to flutter as he feels him so close. So warm. So _him_.

"How can I remember now, though?" Louis tilts his head back just enough to look straight into Harry's eyes, but not enough to pull away from Harry's hands. "What did you do?"

"I don't know," Harry sighs deeply. "I started telling you things such as how to use some of your powers and how long we've actually known each other. I don't think it was anything I said, though. I think the fact that you used your power might have reset your memory."

"How can that be?" Louis frowns, taking a deep breath. He looks tired, worn out. Harry wants to wrap him in his arms again and stay like that until all of this chaotic mess is over. 

"There are things I also don't understand about your kind," Harry remarks as softly as he can. He knows Louis doesn't like it when he says things like that: _your kind_ . It is what it is, though. They're made differently; they aren't the same. However, even though that is true, they are still _one_ . Harry can't be _someone_ without Louis, and he knows Louis needs him just as much. "I don't understand anything about what Father did to wipe your memories away, either. I've seen him, Lou."

That makes Louis pull away this time. He stands up and runs his hands over his face and through his hair, overwhelmingly worried. 

"You've seen him?" Louis repeats, his voice shaky with fear. "Is he here? When did that happen?"

"He isn't here," Harry shakes his head after he stands up to position himself in front of Louis, placing his hands on his small shoulders. "Not yet."

" _Not yet?!_ "

"Yes, not yet. I don't know how much time we've got to come up with a plan, but we can make it work."

"Harry," Louis whispers shakingly, wrapping his hands around Harry's wrists and squeezing them.

"I know, Lou," Harry nods slowly. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, okay? He won't come near you."

"But what about _you_?"

"I survived you not knowing who I was for almost three months," He smiles weakly. Louis' eyes tear up once more. "I can handle my Father."

"What does he want with me?" Louis asks, even though he doesn't seem to really want the answer. "You've told me you came after me on a mission. For him. But _why_?"

"Lou," Harry wants to cry, then, because he doesn't want his answer to be true. He doesn't want to be so out of ideas on how to get away from this; how to save Louis. He will. He has to. But he can't stand the thought that he doesn't know how to. "You're the only one left."

"What?" Louis tilts his head to the side, his eyes still tearful from all the worry and pain and fear. "What do you mean?"

"You're the only Archangel Nephilim blood left," Harry clarifies, pulling him closer by the shoulders. "He needs you to open the gates of Hell."

"What did you just say?"

Harry places his hands on Louis' neck, keeping him there, close. Close, close, close. He's missed him too much. 

"Exactly what I said. He's on a mission to set Hell loose on Earth, and he needs you for it."

"What —" Louis stutters. "How long have you known about this?"

"For _days_ ," Harry assures him. "I hadn't known that until he summoned me and told me everything. Before all of this, I told you what I'd known. Everything. I swear."

"He needs me to open the gates of Hell?" Louis repeats as if somehow he can make it any more real by saying it out loud himself. 

"He's tried with other Nephilim. Many of them," Harry informs him. "None of them were like you, though."

"What happened to them?" Louis urges, but he doesn't even need to hear Harry's answer. He sees it on Harry's face. "They're dead. Oh, my God. He wants to kill me. He _is_ going to kill me."

"No! No, he's not. I won't let it. I promise, Lou. I promise."

"Harry —"

"He won't," Harry interrupts him, shaking his head fiercely. "Nothing's gonna happen to you. You're fine. _We're_ fine."

"Okay," Louis nods, but Harry can tell he's only saying that for Harry's sake. "Okay."

"I've missed you," Harry whispers, and then he sobs. He can't hold back. He's full ugly crying, his shoulders shaking and his chest tight. "I've missed you so much. I can't believe you remember everything. You really do?"

He sees Louis smiling sadly and tearfully at him as he places his soft hands on Harry's love handles, squeezing them softly. 

"I do," He says quietly. "I remember everything. You. I think I did the whole time, actually, I just couldn't see it or comprehend it."

"How so?" Harry makes the words through his messy sobs, trying his best to get a hold of himself. He's the lamest and sappiest demon to ever exist.

"I had some flashes from you. Us. Things that are related to who I am," Louis tells him. "And that feeling that I'd known you before that first time in my office."

"I'm sorry this is happening to you," Harry murmurs. "I should've done something before Father went this far. Before the deadline."

"There's nothing you could've done, Harry," Louis wraps his arms around Harry's waist, then. 

Harry is leaning down to press another kiss to Louis' soft lips when there are three loud knocks on the door, interrupting him from getting what he so desperately needs from Louis. That need, though, is shoved back when he realizes who could be right behind that door, and Louis seems to realize the same, given the wide-eyed look he is giving Harry.

"What do we do?" Louis whispers, gripping Harry's sweatshirt tight in his hands. 

"You answer the door," Harry whispers back in response. "I'll be right behind it."

Louis nods as he takes a deep shaky breath. Harry moves to stand in a position to stay behind the door once it's opened and assures Louis with a nod when the latter looks at him worriedly.

"Becky?" Harry hears Louis gasps when he opens the door. "What are you doing here?!"

"Are you okay?" There's an edge to Becky's soft voice as if she's so worried she might combust. Harry actually knows the feeling, but he has no idea why or how that girl is at Louis' door right now. 

"What do you mean am I okay? Becky, go back to your room or I'm gonna call security!"

Of course, Becky doesn't listen to him because the door is behind shoved into Harry's face and pressing him back against the wall once the girl is storming into Louis' room. It also takes a very short moment for her to find Harry standing there, and then she is glaring at him with those bright blue eyes. 

"What have you done?" The crazy-blond-haired girl is pointing a finger at him and, for some reason, her eyes seem to be on fire. It's like they're burning on complete anger and Harry is at the receiving end. "Answer me!" 

Harry wouldn't say he is surprised to have Becky's hand around his throat as she shoves him against the wall, but he would say he is surprised to find she is so freakingly strong. She doesn't even need her two hands to pull him up enough to have only his toes touching the floor.

"Becky!" Louis is trying to pull her away, but she's set on keeping her hands right there. Harry is lucky he doesn't _really_ need air. "Let him go!"

"It's you," Harry realizes, then. It's so clear, now. It makes sense, as well. Kind of. "You're the Archangel responsible for him here."

She has never liked him, since day one. She has been giving him shit every day and he has always sensed something different about her. She's too different. Too beautiful. Too much of everything.

"Smart, aren't you?" Becky narrows her eyes and lets him go, even though she looks like she would like to keep strangling him. "Took you long enough. Now, what the fuck have you done?"

"What's happening?" Louis is now standing between them, looking back and forth them both. 

"She's the reason Father can't sense you," Harry tells him, but he's still eying up the girl. "Why _I_ can't sense you."

"You're an angel?" Louis looks at Becky with wide eyes. "But — I mean, I'd never seen you before here. How could you have kept me protected for so long?"

"I'm not the only one," She rolls her eyes. "Are you done being surprised? I wanna know why the hell you used your powers and... _wait_. You remember stuff?"

"Yes."

"Everything?"

"I do."

"Your powers gave your memories back," Becky muses and frowns. "You shouldn't have used them anyway."

"My Father won't sense him," Harry steps around her so he can stand by Louis once again, wrapping his hand around Louis'.

"I know, but if he's close enough, he can actually smell his powers. You know that. You also know that he _will_ be close enough pretty soon."

"How do _you_ know that?"

"Why do _I_ not know any of that?" Louis is frowning, but Harry squeezes his hand to reassure him. 

"I know that because I basically know everything, even if it's from that terrible place you all call home."

"I don't," Harry shakes his head and she raises her brows at him, suspicious. "If you _basically_ know everything, you know I don't. I haven't for a while."

Becky takes a deep sigh and nods while crossing her arms over her chest, looking back and forth to Harry and Louis before saying, "Right. We don't have much time and we need help."

"Who would ever help us?" Louis puzzles with that deep frown between his eyebrows. "I'm not even sure I believe _you_!"

"It doesn't matter if you believe me. We need help and you two need to stay right here," She states. She's a completely different person from the troubled girl she was acting as. "Louis, you are not to use your powers, do you hear me? Not now, at least. Save it for the right moment, when it's necessary. And you, demon —"

"Harry," Louis interrupts her and Harry turns his head to look at him, smiling softly. "You know his name." 

Becky blinks at him and rolls her eyes, "Fine, _Harry_ ," she says. "That bitch Zayn isn't here because he's probably trying to get his head out of your daddy's ass, but you know not to underestimate him. If he comes, _you_ use your powers."

"I don't have enough," Harry confesses and she frowns. "Father took much of it away before sending me here."

"Get it back, then," Becky huffs. "I'm pretty sure you've been away from him long enough for you to own your damn powers."

"It's not that simple."

"Make it be!" She pushes him by his shoulders all of a sudden, startling both men. "You're a demon, for crying out loud! Own your powers and take them back! Don't you wanna protect Louis? Isn't it the reason you're here at all?"

Harry can feel Louis' eyes on him, but he doesn't turn his head to look back now. 

"Okay," Harry says after a long beat of silence. "I'll own my powers. They're mine to take."

"That's right," She walks to the door and stops to give them one last look. "Don't think that I like you just because I'm giving advice."

"I don't."

"Right," She narrows her eyes. "Please, don't do anything stupid. I won't be gone for long, at least not enough for Lucifer to sense Louis. I will be back with help."

"Becky," Louis calls for her before she can leave. She blinks at him. "Thank you."

Her lips twitch and she gives a short nod. "I'm only doing my job," and then she's out the door.


	17. Chapter 17

**_H A R R Y_ **

**_'Cause I wanna touch you, and_ ** **_I wanna feel you, too_ **

**_I wanna see the sunrise and your sins_ **

**_just me and you_ **

“What just happened.”

It isn’t really a question, Harry can tell by Louis’ overwhelmingly surprised tone of voice — the blue-eyed man of Harry’s dreams is standing with a shocked expression, too astonished to say anything else.

“That was Becky,” Harry slowly nods and puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’s looking at Louis as he waits for him to look away from the door to his room. “That’s what happened.”

“Did you —“ Louis stops himself so he can finally look back at Harry, blinking at him with reddish eyes. “Did you really not know who she was?”

“I couldn’t have,” Harry says. He doesn’t dare to step closer to Louis to try and wrap his arms around him once again. Not for now. “Archangels are powerful enough to hide from my...um. You know, my kind.”

“Are you hiding something from me?” Louis crosses his arms over his chest protectively. 

“I’m not. I promise. Before Father wiped your memory away, I’d told you everything I knew back then. I’ve told you what I know now.”

“You’ve been sent to Earth on a mission to find me because I’m Nephilim,” Louis states as if he’s reminding himself of the situation. Harry slowly nods as the words come out from Louis’ mouth. “You’re a demon and I’m Nephilim. You’d told me this before I forgot about everything.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a demon and I’m the Nephilim your father, Lucifer, wants because I’m the only one left. Because I have Archangel’s blood.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, watching Louis carefully as he starts pacing back and forth once again. 

“Lucifer, your father, wants my Archangel’s blood because he needs it to open the gates to Hell. Literally. And that means he will kill me. “

“I’ve told you I won’t let that happen.”

“How can you promise that?!” Louis snaps, taking a few steps until he is closer to Harry, their front bodies almost touching. “How can you possibly say that? Harry, we don’t have a plan! We don’t know anything that’s gonna happen!”

“Hey, hey,” Harry finally touches Louis again by placing his hands over Louis’ jaw and caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. “Please, breathe,” He sees Louis taking a deep breath and nods along with it. When Louis’ blue eyes are on his green ones, he says, “We’ve been through this, right? I told you a bunch of scary things about myself and you didn’t run away. Then, I told you things about you that freaked you out, and yet you never ran away. You were there, going through it all. And I was there by your side the whole time, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers with watery eyes. 

“Listen to me, alright? It will take a little while for Father to figure out where you are. Zayn doesn’t know who you are because Becky has been protecting you all along, and as long as she is around, we can keep you safe. She said she went looking for help, but that doesn’t mean she has to leave the building. So, please, don’t worry. For now, you’re safe.”

“How could Zayn or your father not have known, though?”

“Know what?”

“Who I am. I mean, you were sent to Baltimore because that was the closest your father could reach me, right?”

“Right,” Harry frowns, his hands still right there on Louis’ jaw, softly caressing. 

“He knew you were spending time with me and Niall, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

“My point is, how did he not know?” Louis wraps his hands around Harry’s wrists. “Isn’t it a little weird?”

“No, not really. He didn’t know because there was no reason for him to know. In his eyes, you guys were my little human fairytale. From his point of view, he saw me getting distracted from the mission because I was spending time with my human friends, and that’s why you’re here. He’s wiped away the memories of those people who he’d thought mattered the most to me. Of course, he wiped _me_ away from your mind and probably Niall.”

“How could he not have sensed me, though? Wouldn’t an Archangel have to be around me all the time so that wouldn’t happen?”

“Yes, I know. Becky has probably been around this whole time and we’d just never seen her until now, right here where none of us would know or recognize her. She also said she's had help, so maybe some other Archangels were around you when she couldn't."

“I don’t know if it’s because I suddenly have all my memories back now, but this is too much of a big deal. Am I really that important?”

Harry smiles weakly before pressing a soft kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose and says, “You’re more than that important. Well, for me. You’re everything.”

Louis smiles sweetly and leans in to press a kiss to Harry’s longing lips. They sigh deeply when they kiss again this time; it’s slower, softer, deeper. A kiss can say many things, and this one is saying how much they have missed each other, and how much they have been longing for each other. Louis kisses deeper, and with that, he says that there is no one else in the world for him. Harry kisses back, and with that, he says that there is no one else in the whole universe for him. 

“I’d walk through fire for you, you know,” Harry says in between breaths and kisses. 

“I sure hope you would,” Louis pulls Harry’s curls, and Harry groans quietly. “You’re from Hell, after all.”

Harry chuckles as he is led to Louis’ bed by Louis himself. 

“I’m thinking your idea of Hell isn’t what it actually is like.”

“Are you saying Hell isn’t fire and flames?” Louis stops for a moment, his hands against Harry’s chest, ready to push him to the mattress. 

“It can be,” Harry tells him. “It’s different for everybody. I thought we’d had this conversation before?”

“I would remember,” Louis smiles and finally pushes Harry back, causing the latter to lend softly against Louis’ nice smelling pillows. When Louis has his legs placed on both sides of Harry’s hips and his hands on either side of Harry’s head, he lowers his serious but sweet eyes to Harry’s to ask with the quietest of voices, “Do we think we have time for this before your father finds me and take me to Hell to kill me?”

“We’re in the middle of a life and death crises and you want to _do_ me?” Harry asks because he’s missed being this kind of playful with Louis, even if it’s in this terrible situation. 

“Yes, actually,” Louis leans his head down and brushes his lips against Harry’s. “I haven’t done you enough.”

“Maybe I can let you do me after we’ve made sure my terrible father isn’t after you anymore?”

“Harry,” Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair and lock them there. Harry blinks up at him. “There is an extremely high possibility that we’ll be dead as soon as he finds us. Becky may take a while to find whoever she needs to find, and all the while we’re stuck here. I’m sure we’ll also have time to spare and try to come up with an impossible plan.”

“I just wanna be prepared and aware in case anything happens,” Harry admits, his voice quiet. “I can’t have anything happening to you. Please, Lou, stop saying you’ll be dead. I can’t stand the thought. I can’t.”

“Haz,” Louis’ soft fingertips run through Harry’s face. “Right now, we’re here. I remember, and I love you. So much. Be here, with me.”

Harry blinks up at Louis a few times before wrapping a hand around his neck and bringing his lips down to his own, decided. He's missed too much of this. Louis is right: what if they don't have the opportunity to enjoy each other later because they will happen to be dead? 

Harry takes a deep shaky breath between the kiss when there's a cold feeling at the pit of his stomach — he can't even think about that word. Not if Louis is in the same sentence. He can't have that. Harry will do everything and anything so that Louis will come out alive. That thought causes Harry to deepen the kiss, demanding more and more. 

This part right here is Harry's favorite thing about being _someone_ . Before coming to Earth, he hadn't known there could be such a feeling. He had heard some of the demons who came up here to possess a body and happened to have had sex. He remembers them saying how different it is for them, but he'd never heard them saying it would feel like _this_. 

Louis pulls Harry's sweatshirt up to throw it somewhere in the room before he has their lips pressed together again in that deep kiss, and Harry thinks if this is about him and Louis. This feeling. He's wondered once or twice if any of the other demons have ever felt like this while having a human body pressed against them, this close. He's wondered many more times if any other demons have ever had their stone-cold hearts almost explode with this much feeling. Maybe, Harry wonders not for the first time, this is because it was all meant to be. Because Harry has always been supposed to be like this, this close to Louis and nobody else.

When Louis pulls his own sweatshirt up, Harry has to swallow dry as if to calm his heart down. It's been a while since he last saw a shirtless Louis, and that vision is one of his favorites. 

"You're beautiful," Harry whispers as he sits up to press a soft kiss to Louis' exposed neck. "I'd never thought someone like you would be waiting for me here."

"I guess I'd been waiting for you a long time until you came into my life," Louis smiles softly as he runs his hands through Harry's curls. Harry raises his eyes to look at his face and smiles back. "I've missed you."

"I can't lose you, Lou," Harry voices his fear once again, his voice shaky as his arms wrap around Louis' waist. "Not again. Not ever."

"You've never lost me," Louis tells him knowingly and presses a quick but soft kiss to Harry's wet lips. "I've been here the whole time. I just needed a little help to remember and you helped me. You always do. You won't lose me, no matter what happens."

"I love you," Harry whispers. "Let me show you how much."

In a quick move, Harry switches their positions and, then Louis is the one laying on the bed, his eyes bright and full of love as he loos up at Harry hovering over him. 

"Please, do," Louis gives him that sweet smile once again, and Harry does as he's told. 

Like their first time and every other, only this time even more meaningful, Harry shows Louis how much he loves him and how much he cares for him; how much he would do anything and everything in his power to protect him. Harry shows him love and protection with deep kisses and slow thrusts. He shows his passion for him with gentle lovebites and light touches. 

Louis shows him everything back, and then, finally, Harry is complete once again.

꧁꧂

"You know," Louis starts with a quiet and soft voice when they are wrapped in each other's arms in his bed, naked under his soft blanket, breathing in and out together while they enjoy that rare moment of peace. "You've never really told me about your life before me."

Harry doesn't move to lower his eyes to find Louis' blue ones looking up at him from his spot on Harry's chest. He doesn't dare to look down because Louis has never asked about his life in Hell after Harry told him everything. Before he would ask some things about his childhood and family and Harry could lie about it. When he learned about Harry's true identity, the only thing he would ask was about his Father and actual Hell, never about his _life_ down there, though.

Thus, that statement causes him to breathe in shakily before biting down his bottom lip hard. He knows Louis can tell the words seem to freeze him, but he is glad that Louis also knows him well enough not to say anything.

"What do you wanna know?" Harry asks and Louis sits up facing him, letting the blanket slide down his torso to his hips, leaving his chest and stomach free for Harry's eyes to enjoy.

"You've never told me about your mother," Louis shrugs, wrapping his hands around Harry's right one.

"My Mother," Harry echoes, and his eyes wander around the room thoughtfully. 

"It's still hard to believe Lucifer and Lilith are your parents."

"I wouldn't call them parents," Harry shakes his head. "At least not Father. Lilith was more a parent to me than he could ever have been. And I guess that's just normal. I mean, he's Satan, after all."

"How long has it been since you last saw her?"

"Three hundred years."

"What?" Louis gasps with wide eyes. " _Hundred?!_ "

"That's not many years for me, Lou, you know that, right?" Harry finally looks at him to give him a small smile. "She just...disappeared. I mean, I guess she fleed. She'd been done with Father for a very long time back then, I wasn't surprised when she wasn't there anymore."

"Were you sad?"

"I think I was. I couldn't really name what I was feeling, and I didn't know I was feeling. I had always felt things, but I never could name them. Demons aren't supposed to feel anything."

"Oh?" Louis frowns, and even though he doesn't seem surprised, there's still confusion in his eyes. 

"I think that's why Mother always treated me differently than the way she treated my siblings. I think she had always known. It doesn't take long for a demon to become an adult. Well, I mean my kind. The demons that are made, they don't need to...um...grow up. They are the way they are ever since their beginning. I wasn't like that. As you know, I was born. My siblings and I were actually babies once, and I know that might seem extremely weird for you and I don't think I could ever explain it well enough for you to picture it, but well. We were. And then we were children, and then teenagers and then adults. Those are the words humans would use. For us, we're just in phases. Phase one, phase two, phase three, and phase four. Those happen pretty fast — in three years I was an adult."

" _What?_ " Louis gasps again. "Why am I surprised?" He frowns again and Harry chuckles quietly.

"It's alright," Harry brings Louis' hands to his lips and kisses his knuckles before continuing, "During these three years, we learn how to use our powers. We basically all have the same powers, but each one of us has at least two or three that are different."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Three," Harry tells him. "For the look on your face, I'm guessing you thought I had many more?"

Louis smiles and says, "Yes. I don't know why."

"We're very powerful," Harry blinks and Louis nods. "Which is why Father wanted more, but he didn't want to wait three years until they were ready to use their powers. So he figured out how to create them. They aren't as powerful as my siblings and I, but they're still powerful."

"Why did it take three years for you all to use your powers?"

"They didn't just come naturally. We've always had them, but we had to look for them inside and bring them out. This is why Becky said I have to own them now. Because they're still here, and they're mine. Back then, we had to learn when and how to use them. In phase one, we're too young, but then we're in phase two and that's old enough to start learning. Mother was the one to teach us everything, Father only wanted the results."

"Someone taught me how to use my powers once," Louis smiles softly at him and Harry smiles back.

"I guess I was always the soft kid," Harry narrows his eyes. "I can describe the feelings I felt back then, nowadays. I would feel disappointed when I couldn't do something right, and I would feel extremely sad when Father didn't praise me for doing something right. I would yearn for Mother's hugs if one of my siblings beat me at one of our battles."

"Battles?"

"After learning how to use one power, we would use it against each other. Battle." Harry explains. "I couldn't understand why my siblings wouldn't act the way I did. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't get as angry as I did when Father wasn't fair with his punishments."

"Is that what made your mother leave? The way your father treated you and your siblings?"

"No," Harry shakes his head. "She would have left with us, wouldn't she?" He frowns and Louis gives him a sad look. "I remember wondering why she didn't take _me_ with her. I'd dare to say we were kind of close. I mean, as close as Lilith's son could be to her."

"How so?" 

"She was Adam's first wife, did you know that?" Harry asks and Louis nods. "But she fell in love with the snake," He shrugs. "Then she became evil. She had her own mind, ideas, and opinion, so she couldn't be with Adam. Lucifer was smart to take her with him. However, because she has always had her own mind, ideas, and opinion, she also had the thirst for power. She didn't want to be someone's woman, she wanted to be someone's queen. I mean, _the_ queen. Of course, Father wouldn't have it. He's never allowed her to rule anything. The only thing she had responsibility for was her children and the evil she could do here on Earth. But, rule Hell? Never."

"Is that why she left, then?"

"I think so," Harry nods. "Their last argument was over it, as usual. Then, she was gone. Father was mad furious, and ever since he's been doing everything to find her, but she's powerful. I don't know how, but none of us can find her. We've been trying, but we just can't. Even though he's trying to set Hell loose on Earth, he's still looking for her."

"Did she say goodbye?" Louis blinks at him with those attentive blue eyes and Harry shakes his head.

"No," He says. "I know now that day was one of the worst days of my existence. I couldn't understand why she couldn't have just taken me with her. There is no way she didn't know I was _different_ from my siblings."

"Where are the other two? I mean, Zayn is here. What about the others?" Louis asks and Harry swallows dry.

"Maz and Brak," Harry tells him. "I won't say their whole names because if they're not on Earth, it might summon them here. I don't want to risk it."

"Okay," Louis nods with furrowed brows.

"Well, they're as bad as Zayn, I guess. I'm the youngest, so they have always thought me to be the weakest one. If Father is coming, they are coming with him, and it scares me, Lou. Not for me, but for you. They are every definition of what the word _demon_ means to you humans."

"I'm sorry, Harry, for everything. I'm sorry your siblings are as terrible as they should be, I guess. And I'm sorry your mother didn't take you with her. She should have."

"Don't be," Harry sits up against the headboard of the bed. "If she'd taken me with her, I wouldn't have come to Earth and I wouldn't have met you." Louis smiles softly. "I wouldn't trade meeting you for anything."

"I love you," Louis says.

"I love you, too," He leans in to place a soft kiss on Louis' lips. "Thank you for making me into _someo_ ne."

Louis grins and kisses him back before saying, "Should we come up with a plan?"

"We need Becky for that," Harry states before bringing Louis' hands to his lips again to place another soft kiss there. "But one plan is set: nothing is gonna happen to you, do you understand?"

"And nothing is gonna happen to _you_."

"Let's get dressed," Harry says, ignoring Louis' words. Of course, that's the wrong thing to say. 

"Harry, nothing is gonna happen to _you_!" Louis repeats when Harry stands up from the bed to wear his clothes back. "If you're planning to go on a suicidal mission, you can just let it go! I won't allow it. Do you hear me?"

"I'm not planning a suicidal mission, Louis," Harry steps in front of the bed to face a frowning Louis. "It's just...I'm immortal, remember? Well, Father would know how to kill me, but it's almost impossible."

"I don't like those odds!" Louis gets up and also puts on his clothes so he can stand right in front of Harry with a scowl. "You want to protect me, I get it. But don't you understand that I would also do anything to protect _you_?"

"I know," Harry places his hands on Louis' cheeks. "But I need you to be careful. Whatever the plan is, I _need_ you to be careful and safe. Okay?"

Louis takes a deep breath and blinks at him, whispering, "I need you to be careful, too. _Okay_?"

"Okay," Harry nods. "We'll be careful together, right?"

"Right."

Then, there's a knock on the door, and that's their cue to go on their impossible mission and be careful together.


End file.
